When Raccoons Fall From the Sky
by AmberTheCritic
Summary: So that's the title I'm sticking with, huh? Very well then. I have an OC in this (*and there was much rejoicing*). As far as summaries go: SHIELD and the rage of Rocket Raccoon should not be combined. So naturally, let's do it and see what happens! Snark from both sides is guaranteed. (Rated T for language- we're not going to get saucy and raunchy, here).
1. It's Raining Cats and Dogs (and Pests)

"Checkmate," Bruce stated, setting down his chess piece.

"What?! You're kidding me!" Liz blurted, frantically searching the board for an escape, "How the hell did you put me in check with a pawn?!"

Bruce shrugged, "I don't recall. But here we are."

Liz growled, then tipped over her king in defeat, "I hate this game."

"Makes sense, considering you keep losing," he said, doing nothing to hide the satisfied smirk, "Want to play again?"

"Hell no!" she shouted, lying back on her bed with a huff.

Bruce folded the chess board and set it aside, "Anything else you'd like to do?"

She huffed, "I wanna get out of this stupid bed and train so I can go back to kicking the hell out of killer idiots."

He smiled, measured, "I'm not sure I can deliver on that." His eyes drifted away, appearing passive, "How's the rehab going?"

"Fine," she answered bluntly.

Bruce kept his smile tolerantly, "Alright, now… maybe try again with a little more detail."

Liz sighed, "… It's fine. I just want it over with."

"Are you still in a lot of pain?"

"Sometimes."

"Meaning?"

She crossed her arms, "Meaning _sometimes_. I can handle more than they think— just walking around isn't going to help anything anytime soon."

Bruce shrugged, "Well, maybe you don't need to be concerned about healing _fast_ _enough_. Maybe healing _fully _is a little more important." He stood, "Don't try to rush things, Elizabeth. Or you'll have to go through this all over again."

"Hell knows I don't want that," she muttered, made all the more defensive by the use of her full name.

He looked about ready to continue the argument, but the sound of commotion suddenly broke out beyond the room's door.

Liz sat up, "What the…?"

Bruce wasted no time, opening the door and disappearing down the hallway. Liz quickly threw her legs over the side of the bed to follow him, pausing briefly to quell the protest of her ribs. She took in a breath, locked her jaw, rocked to her feet, then rushed after Bruce.

Agents were rushing to the upper deck in swarms, most heavily armed and frantic. She was able to meet up with Bruce amidst the chaos, and the two followed the crowd up to the open flight deck, where quite a sight was unfolding.

Two heavy-duty SHIELD helicopters lowered a colorful heap of wreckage onto the deck, loose scraps snapping from their wiring and flying off in the heavy wind. It was unceremoniously released and dropped, erupting in a series of piercing scrapes, accompanied by a heavy shockwave that made the ground rumble beneath them.

_Well, now I know why we made an ocean landing, _Liz mused, _Special delivery._

She cast Bruce a sideways glance, and caught one of his own.

"Lay low," he cautioned, "Before anyone realizes we shouldn't be here."

She nodded, glad they'd come up with similar plans of action. After another quick facial cue the two split up. Bruce was careful to stay at the back of the crowd, but Liz inched forward into an opening, watching Fury.

He stood at the front, solemnly observing the process. He was approached by Coulson, and Liz strained to make out their conversation.

"…in the middle of the desert, near the Nevada border," Coulson informed, "Which makes me wonder how much longer our luck will last, before one of these falls in the middle of a major city."

Fury didn't crack a smile, "What do you know about it?"

"Well sir, it's a smaller craft—in fairly good shape, despite its crash landing." Coulson gestured to the left underside of the mess, "We believe the burns indicate it was fired on, resulting in the crash. It was still sparking when we made it to the scene, so it's most likely still functional."

"What about the pilot?" Fury immediately questioned.

Coulson paused, "We were unable to gain access to the interior upon or initial arrival."

"So you're telling me you didn't check inside?" Fury asked sharply.

"Not as of yet, sir."

Fury turned away to face the craft once more, "It's a little late for precautions now then, isn't it?" He nodded, signaling to a row of agents who instantly surrounded the wreckage. They held guns at the ready, their strides gradually shrinking until they merely inched towards it, obviously worried about what if anything lay inside.

One stepped forward cautiously, a crowbar in hand. She approached a giant slab of metal which Liz assumed used to be a functioning door, and slipped the crowbar into one of the slits on the side. After a decent struggle, little to no progress was made, so another agent stepped in to assist her. It was then, his attention diverted for a moment, that Coulson spotted Liz in the crowd.

Her blood went cold, and she smiled tightly.

_Well shit. _Her mind naturally rushed to conjure up the excuse she'd use when he confronted her, an entire audience of agents behind him.

Before either could make a move, the remains of the door was severed from its hinges and fell with a metallic clang, revealing the dark and demolished cabin within. Smoke still hazed about inside, briefly interrupted by the bright fizz of broken wires, but no further sound was heard.

The agents looked to Fury for direction, and after a moment, received the command to advance. Two more agents, these holding slender black rods (Liz had no clue what they were aiming to accomplish with those), led the group forward. For a while, only the sound of boots on metal was heard, seemingly fluid and unfaltering.

Coulson let out a noticeable breath, then looked back to Fury, "I didn't think anything would have been able to survive a crash like—"

A scream burst forth, and like a gunshot, an agent was sent flying out the craft, engulfed in a bluish wave of electricity. Several rushed forwards to help him, but only seconds later, another flew out in a similar manner, landing on top of the first agent.

Fury stepped back, a hand gravitating towards his gun, "What the hell is going on in there?!"

From inside, an agent began to reply, but his voice was quickly drowned out by a horrible sound, something halfway between a snarl and a hiss, followed by commotion between the agents. Liz's eyes broke away for a second to search for Bruce, but couldn't spot him in the crowd. While she was telling herself that she wouldn't blame him in the slightest if he'd slipped away after seeing the airborne agents, another shrill howl erupted, this time accompanied by the sound of surging electricity.

Suddenly, a shape darted out of the cabin, then zipped down the runway at a blinding speed. Fury drew his pistol and fired several rounds in quick succession, but each missed its mark, bouncing off the ground.

Instead of marveling at the rarity that was the director missing his target, Liz shoved through the crowd and immediately pressed into a sprint, "I got it!"

She was sure she heard Fury telling her to back off, but didn't turn to check how angrily he'd done so. Instead, she ran after the blur, ignoring the protests of her knee, still unable to make out a shape. It was dark in color, significantly smaller (and faster) than her, and showed no signs of slowing down. Before she could come up with a strategy to corner it, the thing abruptly stopped, and unable to halt as quickly, Liz passed it. By the time she'd realized the trick, it was running in the opposite direction.

"Dammit!" she snapped, and began pursuing it once again.

Just as she started to doubt she'd be able to catch the speeding creature, it made a mistake—it was heading straight for the edge of the helicarrier. She increased her pace, already out of breath, preparing to confront it before it realized it was cornered.

Sure enough, the moment it reached the edge, the thing halted dead in its tracks. Liz was about to take a dive to tackle it headlong into the ocean—but froze in shock only a few feet away. She looked the creature up and down to try and prove her initial thought wrong, with no success.

It was only a few feet tall, with browning grey and black fur. It had pointed ears and a long, ringed tail. It stood upright and was dressed in a dirtied orange space suit. Then it talked.

"… Well, sh*t, " he muttered, staring at the endless ocean abyss below, "This didn't really work out the way I was thinkin' it would." He peeked over his shoulder to formulate another plan, and caught Liz's wide-eyed expression. He made a face, "What are you lookin' at?"

By now, she was about ready to walk away and pretend she hadn't seen it.

"You…" she began breathlessly, "Are a talking… raccoon."

His ears flattened instantly, and he snarled, "_I am not a mother—" _His voice was momentarily drowned out as he pulled out and cocked an odd looking gun, "_—ing raccoon!"_

Seeing as he was heavily armed, Liz tried to regain her senses and cough up an apology, but he'd already pulled the trigger. She unceremoniously hit the deck as the blast of energy flew overhead, then rolled to the side when she realzed out he was still firing at her. After a few seconds of this, she was able to rise to her knees, and took the slim opportunity to knock the raccoon off his feet with a sweeping kick. The gun slipped from his grasp on impact, and he scrambled to regain it. Liz leapt forward and pinned him down with an arm, receiving a threatening hiss in protest.

"No you don't," she said, though not eager to sink all her weight into the small creature. In retaliation, he reared back and clawed at her face, causing her to falter and release her hold. He made another grab for his gun, but Liz snatched up his tail, yanking him back within her reach. She wrapped an arm around his middle, pulled him to her chest, then slipped the other arm underneath his throat.

"Hey!" he yowled, squirming violently to free himself, "Piss off!"

She strained to get a grip on him, "What, so you can try to shoot me again?" After a minute, she mumbled tensely, "I'm talking to a raccoon…"

"_I told you I'm not a raccoon you flarkin' moron!" _he bellowed directly in her ear, clawing feverously to find a part of her to bite.

Liz tightened the arm at his throat, no longer trying to be gentle, "Calm down. I don't want to hurt you."

"—You say as you're pinning me to the ground," he snapped, "Your friends are doing a damn good job of helping you out, by the way. "

She scowled, seeing he was right.

"Tell me about it," she agreed lowly.

After several more frantic seconds trying to hold him in place, agents rushed over to her, instructing her to keep him still.

"What the hell do you think I've been trying to do?" she spat, but bit back the rest, wanting to get rid of the writhing creature as soon as possible. One of the agents extended a long black rod towards his head, a thin translucent loop at the end.

"Can you try to get this around his neck?" the agent asked her.

Liz struggled to keep her hold on him, both arms occupied, "No, not really."

She heard him grumble in annoyance, but could care less.

"I'm sorry, does that inconvenience you? Must be rough."

The raccoon tried desperately to escape the binding, but was eventually forced to submit, and the loop was lowered over his head.

"Because this is a fair fight," he snarled, loud enough for Liz to catch it.

She replied on the same level, "You fired on me when it was obvious I didn't have any weapons. You weren't fair, so I don't feel the need to be, either."

He let out a short breath, "Bitch."

Another loop was lowered in the same manner, falling down to his neck and tightening slightly. On command, Liz slid out, allowing the first loop to lower around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides. He fought nonetheless, especially once Liz removed her arms and stood, though his resistance had little effect.

"Remain still," an agent commanded loudly, "Or we'll be forced to retain you."

He scoffed, unaffected, "That line didn't work on me the first time—what chance do you got?"

In retaliation, the two agents hit a switch on the end of their rods; the previously clear loops flowed with electricity, and the raccoon cried out in pain and surprise, falling to a knee. The torment continued for a second longer before the flow was stopped.

He drew long, heavy breaths, his head lowered in defeat.

"Yeah… that'll about do it," he panted, unwillingly accepting surrender.

Fury arrived a few moments later, looking the creature up and down. For a moment, he caught Liz's gaze as if expecting an explanation. She only shrugged, confused as he was.

"… Take it down to Containment Level B," he ordered, "The rest of you, secure the craft below deck in the upper hangar. Make preparations for flight, while you're at it. We go up in an hour."

As agents set off to fulfill their orders, Bruce approached Liz from behind, nudging her arm when she didn't turn.

"You alright?" he asked, breaking her out of her trance.

She jumped slightly, "What?" After a second, she stammered, "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Rubbing her forearm (which she discovered was now littered in claw-marks), she glanced back at the strange creature, who was practically being dragged along by the SHIELD agents. For a second, he glared at her loathingly, then lowered his head again, making no effort to keep up the pace. Liz didn't remove her gaze, still in disbelief.

"What the hell that thing?" she muttered to herself.


	2. A Little Less Conversation, Please

After a few hours the commotion had died down, so Liz snuck down to the containment deck, which she found oddly empty. She passed the industrially labeled metal doors until she came to the one marked "Level 1B," over which a yellow light blinked lazily. When it didn't reject her access code she took a slow breath, then set off down the extra flights of stairs that awaited her.

By the time she reached the actual prison cells, her knee was scorching like Hades, while her ribs strangled her into submission. Certain no one would see it, she stooped down, breathing heavily.

"Can't handle the stairs, blondie?"

Recognizing the voice, she didn't bother fabricating an excuse; she let out another growling breath and without looking at the cell it came from, muttered, "Shut up, Wade."

He cackled, "Just messing with you, Jesus. I know how it feels, injuries and stuff— oh wait, no I don't. Superhuman healing and all… never mind. Yeah, have fun with that."

Liz glared at him, "Shoot yourself."

He put his hands to his chest as if offended, "Yeesh, that's a little cold for you, isn't it?"

She shrugged, "Not really—superhuman healing and all."

"Ohoho…" He clicked his tongue flirtatiously, "Nice talking with you, sweet cheeks."

"Goodbye, Wade," she replied bluntly, stuffing her hands in her pockets and stalking away without another word.

Eventually she spotted Coulson, slouching in a chair before of one of the cells. His coat was discarded behind him and his arms were loosely crossed, making Liz assume he was attempting—and failing—an interrogation.

Ignoring his frustration, she smiled sweetly and asked, "Having fun?"

He turned slightly, looking unamused, "You know you shouldn't have interfered today, Miss Rachels. This was an agent-exclusive situation—"

"Oh come on, I'm an agent too," she argued.

"You know that's not what I meant," he replied a little shortly.

She let her smirk drop into a passive smile, "I know."

Liz glanced over to the prison cell's transparent front wall, immediately meeting the raccoon's harsh glare. Her cocky expression quickly returned, and she added in a baiting tone, "Besides, we wouldn't want our little headache to have escaped, would we?"

The raccoon's ears flattened, and he promptly flipped her off. Now she knew he could hear them.

She only crossed her arms, continuing to smirk, "Speaking of which, have you found out anything about him, yet?"

Coulson gave her a seemingly skeptical look, "Now Miss Rachels, you know you haven't been granted access to that information…" While he spoke, his eyes darted back towards a table, so Liz followed the gesture and walked over to it. Strewn across it were several papers, underneath which a manila file was hidden.

Liz grinned, "See, this is why I like you better than Fury."

He had turned away, but she knew he was smiling, too.

She sat against the table, scanning the few filled forms within.

_… blood tests proved inconclusive, matching no known animal or other recorded specimen… does not match the DNA of a common raccoon, which the subject most closely resembles..."_

"Huh. Guess he was right about not being a raccoon," she muttered to herself.

"Figure that out on your own, did'ja?" he snapped. Liz's eyes flew up quickly, surprised he'd heard her. She glanced over at Coulson, expecting him to share her astonishment, but he only shrugged.

She continued to read: _capable of speaking fluent English (including explicit terms), capable of operating a firearm, unwilling to disclose information, easily provoked, high tendency to bite when threatened…_

When nothing further was established, Liz scoffed, "Excessive, isn't it?"

"As you can see, we haven't been successful obtaining anything more than the obvious," he replied lowly, "Attempts to communicate end with him either ignoring or threatening us."

"How'd you get the blood sample?"

"We got lucky," he answered, and flashed her one of his previously hidden hands, which she now saw was covered with claw marks.

Liz nodded, "Yeah, I got in on some of that action." She swept a finger across her cheek, then her arm, "He did a pretty good job of ripping off as much skin as possible."

From the cell, he snickered, "Good, that was the plan."

Her glare flew back to him, "I wasn't talking to you, whiskers."

He returned the glare, "Watch it, princess. There's plenty left of you to shred."

Liz crossed her arms, approaching the prison, "And how do you plan to do that, exactly?" She rapped on the barrier with a knuckle, "This might pose a problem."

The raccoon imitated her in a whining tone, then snarled, "I've gotten out of worse than a glass box—this won't be a challenge."

Someone tapped her shoulder, so she turned; Coulson had collected his coat and held out the file to her.

"I'd appreciate it if you record anything you find out." Before she could protest, he was halfway to the door. "Have fun."

She let out a long breath, then turned back to face her opponent.

He continued to snicker, "Sucker. He was looking for a chance to beat it since you got here."

"Shut up," she said shortly.

"Well _you're_ all a bunch of bastards—I was starting to feel left out," he replied.

"No, not all of us," she argued, "The vast majority, but not all." She nodded in the direction Coulson had left, "He's the nicest, but you lost your chance with him—you get to deal with me, again."

"Oho… I'm _so _intimidated." The sarcasm in his voice was painfully blatant.

She frowned, "You know, maybe we wouldn't have to be such bastards if you weren't, either."

He crossed his arms in suit, practically pouting, "You started it."

"You open-fired on agents, unprovoked!" she shot back.

"Unprovoked? Are you frickin' kidding me?" he said incredulously, "Alright, so I guess if you woke up after you thought you were dead and saw a bunch of people with guns standing over ya, you wouldn't do nothing to defend yourself, right?"

Liz didn't answer, setting her jaw and looking away.

He scoffed, "Yeah, that's what I thought."

She let the silence hang for a moment, then once she'd regained her patience, turned back to him.

"Alright," she began, "I'll buy what you said about not being a raccoon. Would you mind telling me what you are, then?"

He offered her a sneer, "No thing like me 'cept me—one of a frickin' kind."

As tempted as she was to write it down, she didn't. There was a sudden spike of malice in his voice.

"I see."

"No ya don't," he spat back almost instantly, "Back where I'm from, people have the sense enough to know a threat when they see one."

This time, Liz couldn't hold back a laugh, "Oh sure: two or three feet tall with a fluffy tail. That's the look of a killer."

His expression was filled with utter loathing, and he completely turned his back on her, staring at the inner wall of the cell. She saw his mouth move as mumbled curses under his breath, but it only made her enjoy his annoyance all the more. After a few minutes of bitter silence on his behalf, Liz decided to let up on the taunts for the time being and actually do her job.

"Okay, if you don't want me to keep referring to you as "whiskers" then, can you tell me your name?"

"I could."

She sighed, "_Will_ you tell me your name?"

"Maybe."

He was beginning to agitate her again. She gritted her teeth, "_Will_ you _please _tell me your name?"

She could see him smirking, "Yeah: 89P13."

Liz stared at him blankly, "… What?"

"You asked for my name and I gave it to ya, happy?" He cackled, "But I guess instead of watching your head start shorting out trying to get that down, I go by Rocket."

"Rocket," she repeated, "That's a little easier to remember." Then she scowled, "You know, I'm not an idiot."

"Uh-huh," he replied skeptically, spinning around to face her again, "You made sure of it pretty quick—I mean, ya fell for the oldest trick in the book out there."

"I did not—"

"You went, like, twenty feet before you realized I was going the other way!" He continued to laugh, "And did you even see how many times I almost shot you? If you'd have been an inch closer, you'd be swimming in your own—"

"Well if you're so smart, then why are you stuck here?" she interrupted, angry again.

Rocket stopped talking, then gave her an unamused look, "Keep a lid on it snippy, or I'll make a stop-over to pay you back for everything you've said, when I get outta here."

It was her turn to scoff, "_When_ you get out? Not gonna happen. SHIELD is the most technologically advanced organization on the face of the earth—there's no way you'll slip anything past us."

He raised an eyebrow skeptically, "What, this dump? Nah… a week tops, sweetheart, and I'm out."

Liz rolled her eyes, "Sure." She jotted down what little she learned and tossed the file back onto the table, "Well good luck with that, Rocket."

He rolled his eyes in suit, "_Miss_ Rachels."

She halted mid-step, her eyes flashing back to him.

"It's Liz, actually."

"Whatever, Rachels."

Liz resumed walking, arms firmly crossed as she fumed.

"Doesn't _someone_ look happy?"

"Shut up, Wade."


	3. A Real Knee-Slapper

Liz withheld a groan, pressing deep into the calf-stretch. The muscle presented little pain—her knee, on the other hand, was screaming for her to stop.

Bruce watched her carefully, "Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Not really," she replied stiffly, hoping it sounded convincing enough. Unable to see her face in full, Bruce took her word for it.

"Just one more minute, if you'd like," he told her, taking a moment to jot down notes. Liz let out a quick breath, determined to meet the time. Her outstretched leg began to tremble, but she fixed her gaze on the wall, ignoring it.

"You're shaking a little," he cautioned, "Take it easy."

"I'm fine," she exhaled, her head lowering in concentration. The pain intensified with the passing seconds, making her fingers dig savagely into the foam-paneled wall. Taking deep audible breaths, Liz pushed herself to endure for a little longer.

"Liz," Bruce repeated a little firmer, "I think you need to stop."

She ignored his advice and leaned in to deepen the stretch. A sharp stab suddenly reared up; before she could withdraw her weight, there was a snap.

Liz cried out, and she faltered instantly. Luckily, Bruce had seen it coming—he quickly discarded the notepad and caught her beneath the arms, supporting the entirety of her weight.

"It's alright," he assured, "I gotcha, just hold on a second." Grunting with effort, he struggled to gain a proper hold, "Alright, I'm going to sit you down, so keep the knee straight. Can you do that?"

She could only nod, biting back tears.

Bruce meticulously lowered her, receiving many winces and yelps of pain in protest. But eventually he sat her against the wall, the now swelling knee flattened against the floor. He examined it carefully, gently feeling the area for the screws and wires that had been installed to hold the pieces of bone in place, then sat back.

"Nothing is broken," he informed, "You must have pulled the wiring too tight… again." When she didn't reply, his tone lowered, "If you knew this exercise was too much for you to handle, why didn't you say something?"

Liz didn't look at him.

"Pain isn't just an annoyance, Liz—it means something is wrong, and you need to back off. You know this."

"I said I was fine," she repeated shortly, her face beginning to burn in embarrassment.

He seemed prepared to further the argument, but instead closed his eyes, taking a slow breath.

"… I think that's enough for today," he eventually said, his voice descending in intensity, "Ice it tonight and use the elevator instead of the stairs." Bruce extended his hand to her, and she begrudgingly took it, avoiding his gaze. He pulled her to her feet, allowing her time to adjust her weight accordingly. She began to walk away, seemingly unaffected by the previous pain, and had almost escaped within a few gaping strides.

"And Liz," he added, prompting her to stop and turn.

Bruce pondered what he'd say for a second, then simply advised, "You know, you're not weak. Or foolish. But trying to prove that is making you appear otherwise."

Her cheeks burned with more intensity, so she swiftly turned back around.

"Uh-huh," was all she offered in means of a response, and left the room before he could call her back.

Once she was sure Bruce wasn't following after her, Liz ducked behind a wall and let out a steady groan, gingerly massaging the sides of her knee in an attempt to quell the scorching. It made little difference, so she straightened up as best she could, planning to slip away to her room before anyone else gave her grief for limping around.

Coincidentally, she was only a short walk away from the containment corridor where her furry little friend was held, and had been reported just as uncooperative as when he was captured.

She considered it for a second, then gave in, _Oh, why the hell not? Could use a headache to distract me from the knee._

The stairs greeted her with sadistic pride, forcing her to choose a less painful but exceedingly more ridiculous alternative: hopping down them. She nearly lost her balance on innumerable instances, and by the time she reached the bottom, was again breathing heavily again.

"You know, I am _really_ enjoying the view from here," Wade quipped, awaiting her as always, "The bouncing does _everything _for you."

"Shut up."

"What's wrong, hop-along?" he asked, "Problem with your leg?"

"Knee, actually," she bluntly corrected, already starting to pass him, "And I don't want to hear about the "superhuman healing" crap for the fifth time, so don't waste your breath."

He crossed his arms in a pouting manner, "Actually, I was gonna say something different, kill joy."

"I really don't want to hear it right now," she dismissed, walking out of ear-shot as quickly as her limp would allow.

"Come on!" he insisted, "It wasn't anything funny, I swear! Blondie!"

"Goodbye, Wade!" she called over her shoulder, not caring whether he heard her or not.

As she approached a bend in the hallway, the sound of several echoing voices became audible, and she paused. It sounded like laughter, and she could make out a few of the words said.

"… so adorable!" one said in a cooing tone.

"Personally, I think it'd look cuter as a hat," another offered. The group laughed hysterically at that one, and it didn't take long for Liz to figure out what was going on.

"Aw, what's the matter, fuzzy? We were all having fun until you stopped talking back!"

There was short pause, then the jeering laughter resumed.

"Oh nice job, Aaron, you made little squeaky angry!" the other, which Liz eventually deduced was Adam, told his friend tauntingly.

"Hey, if it didn't want to deal with me, it shouldn't have mouthed off in the first place!" Adam reasoned, then added, "We better get back to the security room—Fury's gonna kill us if he finds us out."

Their howling and snickering was heard far down the opposite hallway, vanishing only when the heavy metal door was shut behind them. Liz slowly turned the corner, approaching Rocket's cell.

At first, she didn't see anyone inside—but after a few more steps, spotted him facing one of the far corners of the room, shoulders hunched with his arms tightly entwined, and tail tucked into his lap.

She sighed, but decided to wait around for him to notice her.

It didn't take long, either; one of his ears perked up slightly, making him take an inconspicuous peek over his shoulder. A glare was already in place before he recognized her.

"Great, it's _you_ again," he said darkly, a hand running up and down his forearm, "What do you want now?"

She shrugged, patient with his shortness for the time, "Nothing. I was just passing through and thought I'd say hello."

He motioned after the earlier agents, "So were they."

Liz's eyes followed it, then she gradually drew them back.

"… Besides that, has everyone been treating you okay?" she asked evenly.

Rocket met her with a cold laugh, "Oh yeah: imprisonment, daily demotivation, starving me out for information—I'm on easy street."

He continued to vigorously rub his arm while he talked, so Liz looked at him questioningly.

"Are you alright?"

"Fan-frickin'-tastic."

Since he had no intention to cooperate, she glanced at the area herself. He made no attempt to hide the injury, apparently not giving a care anymore. There was a missing patch of fur on the inside of his elbow, the exposed skin a blistering red.

She cringed, "Ah… we weren't the ones who did that, were we?"

He snorted, "Nah, I only crashed a flarkin' shuttle—didn't exactly get off scot-free, neither." Rocket hid the wound once more, "They were too busy trying to get a needle in me that they didn't notice there was already plenty leaking outta my flarkin' arm!"

A thought came to mind, and Liz considered it for a moment. She glanced around cautiously, and seeing they were alone, she looked back at Rocket.

"Hold that thought," she said lowly, "I'll be right back. Stay there."

He gave her a dumb look, "_You think I'd still be here if I was given a choice?!" _

She smirked a little, trying to keep her pace above a lagging limp as the headed back towards the stairs.

"Blondie!" Wade sat up quickly when he saw her, "Rachels! C'mere, I—"

"Not now, Wade," she cut him off, ascending the stairs and heading for the medical wing. Internally, she groaned a tad when she realized how far she'd need to walk, but it was too late to return empty handed, now.

Liz scanned the area for anyone worth avoiding, then slipped inside an unlocked closet, leaving the door wide open to let in the light. The shelves were neatly arranged and labeled, containing both medicine and tools for community use. She'd visited the closet too many times to count, and as such made things quick. Left side, four down, third shelf from the top: bandages and wraps. After grabbing a small roll of gauze, she prepared to make her escape, but paused briefly at the sudden flaring of her knee. She glanced back at the shelves, tempted to snatch a few trinkets for herself—but decided she was pushing her luck as it was.

The return trip brought additional pain, enough so that she couldn't hide the limp anymore. Halfway down the stairs, she abandoned hopping for walking, then immediately regretted the choice.

"Damn that stupid wannabe raccoon," she grumbled as she reached the corridor, "Making me walk all the way to the other side of the helicarrier… just because I feel sorry for him…"

"Rachels!"

"Wade, just don't," she shot down tiredly, no longer physically capable to put up with him. By the time she returned to Rocket's cell, she was ready to start crawling.

He gave her an odd look, "What the heck was that about?"

She held up the gauze, "I got you something."

His eyes narrowed a little, then panned up to her, "… Nah, I'm good."

"Come on," she insisted, "You really should—"

"I said I'm fine," he repeated harshly.

Liz glared at him fiercely, her patience quickly evaporating, "Fine. Don't take them." She shoved the roll into her pocket, "I really don't care."

_If you really didn't care you wouldn't have gotten them, _a voice in her head taunted. She rolled her eyes and prepared to abandon the conversation, but a single step on her injured knee sent a shockwave up her body. She took a hissing breath, deciding not to continue any further for the time being.

With a huff, she stalked over to the back table, dragged out the chair, and sat erectly, impatiently waiting for the pain to pass.

"What's your problem?" Rocket questioned, sounding more intrusive than concerned.

"Knee injury," she answered shortly.

He scoffed, "Oh boo hoo… what, did you get a wittle bruise or something?"

Her temper was inflamed at his mocking tone, and her gaze snapped back to him.

"No," she began pridefully, "_Actually_, it was broken. That and a few ribs. And my arm."

Rocket actually went quiet for a second.

"… Jeez, staring to wish I hadn't asked," he muttered.

Liz smirked, proud she was able to catch him off guard, "Yeah. That's what happens when I get into a fight I have no chance of winning."

He smirked in suit, "Well, then either you're a pretty sorry fighter, or you make some bitchin' enemies. Or both."

"I beat you, didn't I?" she challenged wryly.

"Only with help!" he insisted, "And I wouldn't call that winning—I took too much of you along with me!"

She shrugged, "Then I guess it's both."

"Damn straight, it is."

Liz actually laughed a little, "… By the way," she offered, "If those two guys—or anyone else—come over here and bug you like that again, I'd be more than happy to do the same to them, in return. Some people seem to have this strange misconception that I'm a pain in the ass."

He shrugged, "Eh, let 'em have their fun for now. I got something a little more suitable in mind."

She rolled her eyes, seeing it as an empty threat. The throbbing in her knee had diminished slightly, so she stood, letting out an audible breath.

"I'd better leave before Fury catches me here," she said, then as an afterthough, asked, "Has he come down here and lectured you yet?"

Rocket thought for a second, "Eye patch, trench coat, bald guy?"

"That's the one."

"Couple times."

"Well, it won't be the last time," she warned. Before leaving, she paused, and once again withdrew the bandages. "Alright, look. I know you don't want them. But—" She opened the drop box to the cell, shoved the wad inside, and shut it swiftly, "—if you happen to want them later, they're here. Also, if anyone asks, I wasn't the one who gave them to you."

He chuckled under his breath, "I make no promises."

With that she left him, on far better terms than before.

"Liz."

She stopped, then sighed in exasperation.

"Yes, Wade?"

"You plan to listen to me, now?" he asked, sounding as flat as she did.

Liz nodded tolerantly, "Yes, Wade."

"Finally!" he cheered, "Alright, here's what you need to do—take these two fingers." He held up a hand, extending his main and middle finger together, "Got it?"

She followed in suit, "Sure."

"Heh, I could have you do so many things with that…, " he joked, "But it's not nearly as fun if I can't join in, so for now, feel behind your knee."

Again she obeyed, "Okay."

"You feel that real tight muscle in right there in the middle?"

"I do."

"Press into that, hard as you want."

Liz hesitantly followed his instructions, slowly sinking pressure into the muscle. For a moment, there was a dull pain—but it gave way to slow relief, and the tension around the front of her knee receded a small amount.

She glanced up in surprise, "That works way too well."

He snickered in satisfaction, "Staring to wish you'd listened the first time I tried to tell ya?"

"Hell yeah." She continued to massage the muscle, "Thanks."

"No problem blondie," he cackled, "Now you owe me one."

"I guess I do," she agreed, a little sarcastically.

"You could start by letting me out, you know," he offered innocently.

"Nice try."

"So that's a maybe then?"

"Goodbye Wade."

"So a definite maybe?" She didn't answer. "Come on, Liz!"


	4. Catch and Release

Her knee throbbed throughout the night, earning Liz only a few hours of sleep at a time. She was awoken early the next morning to find that her sorry excuse for an ice pack had burst, drenching half her sheets and dripping to form a shallow puddle on the floor below.

Liz groaned, flinging the sheets to the side with a wet "plop." She dug a finger into the muscle behind her knee, finding it as taut as the previous day. Rather than tempt fate, she decided to actually wear the knee brace she'd been prescribed.

She opened the bedside dresser, searched around, then pulled out the buried black wrap. Lying back on the bed, she lazily kicked off her sweatpants (remembering too late she couldn't do it with the other leg) and slipped on the brace, mercilessly tightening the straps to their limits. Feeling around, she found a pair of pants flung over the foot of the bed, and seeing them clean enough (meaning there weren't obvious stains and didn't reek of anything), threw them on. As she'd hoped, they hung loose enough to hide the brace. After another few minutes, hindered by her sleep deprived state, she'd managed to dress herself fully. Rubbing her eyes drowsily, she rose to her feet, staggered for a second, then headed for the door.

Yawning, she threw it open, then froze.

With the exception of a sparse few patches, the entirety of the hallway floor was covered in a sea of white, frothy foam. Liz stood silently for a moment, then seeing as it wasn't a mirage caused by her fatigue, cautiously waded through the mess towards the main room on the floor.

The foam trail gradually diminished as she went, making her slip and nearly plummet on multiple occasions, and left a sticky residue on the lower half over her pants. She entered the control room to find an explosion of agents, all of which were cleaning vigorously.

Spotting Coulson amidst the crowd, she slipped past bustling agents and promptly tapped him on the shoulder.

"How come I never get invited to the parties?" she teased.

He didn't lighten up, "One of the prisoners broke free and caused havoc last night—try to guess who it was."

She glanced around, finding nothing but white foam and an occasional burn or bullet trail along the wall.

"No clue," she replied blankly.

He gestured to the upper window, "Does this help at all?"

Liz suddenly became aware of another mob of agents, these with revving power tools. Welded to the framework of the window with bent metal rods and equally masked with foam, were two agents. A grin crept onto her face when she recognized the whines of Adam and Aaron.

"Rocket," she breathed, "That son of a…"

"He's the one," Coulson confirmed, "We weren't alerted until a distress signal came from the watch tower—once reinforcements were sent, it took us an hour to track him down, again."

Upon further inspection, Liz discovered the two agents were mostly if not entirely naked. She didn't know how it was managed, and didn't need to.

Fighting back additional laughter, she turned her attention back to Coulson, a hand over her mouth, "Uh-huh."

Coulson took a second to look her up and down, then questioned, "Was anything done to you?"

"No, why?"

He shrugged, "I assumed since the two of you are on less than friendly terms, he'd have gone looking for you, too."

"Well thanks for warning me ahead of time," she said sarcastically, then added as an afterthought, "And he went after those two because they were being jerks and teasing him. I was too—only _I _made up for it. They didn't."

He nodded, "Ah." An agent supervising the cleanup called his name, so he glanced over.

"He's being kept in Level 2C now," Coulson informed her lowly, "Try to stay out of trouble today, please."

She scoffed, "Who, me? Pft, when have I _ever _caused trouble?"

After a quick expression to show he was being serious, Coulson walked away to meet with the agent.

Liz immediately turned and set off towards the containment wing, a little disappointed she'd miss out on Wade's annual commentary, this time around.

_I think I'll live without it._

The stairs were no kinder, the brace providing minimal support—in fact, the only thing it succeeded in doing was making her unable to bend the knee in any way, forcing her to descend in a peg-legged manner.

Almost instantly, she was hit with a wall of agents blocking off the first cell of the corridor. Inside, she could hear Fury's stern voice echoing around the room, and wasn't so sure she wanted to be caught there, anymore.

"No entrance beyond this point," one of the agents guarding the cell snapped.

Liz gave him an icy glare, "I was just passing through. I never said I can down here to see _you, _Roman."

"It's Mr. Santos to you, Rachels."

"Only if it's _Miss _Rachels to you," she shot back quickly.

Rocket glanced through the door at the commotion and soon saw her, "Hey."

"Hey," she called back offhandedly, "Now as I was saying—"

"Rachels."

She stopped talking, flinching at Fury's sharp tone.

"… Yes?" she uneagerly replied, trying to avoid Roman's satisfied sneer.

"Come in here."

Roman's sneer instantly vanished, and Liz picked it right up.

"Coming," she obeyed, pushing past Roman in his stunned state. She entered the cell, where Rocket was slouching, handcuffed to a chair—handcuffed meaning one cuff was latched around his middle and the other on the chair's back. He seemed to smirk when he saw her.

"Did'ja see my handiwork out there?" he asked, obviously proud of himself.

She nodded, "I did."

"And?"

Liz opened her mouth to answer, but upon remembering Fury was present, bit back her initial reply.

"It was… thorough." Her gaze shifted to Fury, assuring he wasn't glaring at her, yet.

Rocket chuckled, "That works."

"By the way," she asked, "What was all that white stuff?"

"Fire extinguisher foam," Fury answered flatly.

"Fire extinguisher foam?" she repeated oddly, "Why did you use that?"

"It was the first thing I grabbed," Rocket replied shortly.

"A fire extinguisher?"

"I didn't know what it was! It had a muzzle and a trigger—I assumed it was a weapon!"

"What, you didn't _read _the label on it?!"

"I was a little busy avoiding guys shooting at me; reading it wasn't exactly my highest priority!" He crossed his arms and sat back, "Besides, I'm pretty satisfied with the damage I did."

Fury cleared his throat impatiently, so Liz turned her attention back to him.

"The prisoner escaped its cell around midnight last night," he informed, studying her carefully, "What were you doing at this time?"

"… I was trying and failing to sleep," she answered cautiously. When he didn't reply, she narrowed her eyes a little, "Why?"

When Fury still didn't answer, Rocket rolled his eyes.

"He's insinuatin' you helped me get out, airhead," he told her matter-of-factly.

"What?!" Liz exclaimed, "No! I didn't help him escape!"

"You seem to be fairly familiar with each other," Fury argued evenly.

"Well—I helped Coulson interrogate him a little bit," she reasoned, "Half the stuff you know is stuff I found out, myself."

"The two of you cooperate well, considering your minimal interaction," he added, "That's enough cause for me to be suspicious."

"Cooperate? We don't cooperate!" she assured.

"Yeah—she's too dim-witted for me to get in anything without having to explain it," Rocket quipped.

"Shut it."

"Make me."

"Whiskers."

"Princess."

"Bastard!"

"Bitch!"

"_Enough."_

Liz instantly quieted, but Rocket wasn't quite so daunted.

"I'm tellin' ya, I didn't need any help getting out," Rocket repeated, "I mean, come on, it was child's play!"

Fury remained grounded, "Then would you mind telling me how you _did _get out?"

This made Rocket smile slyly, "… Nah, I'd rather not." He snickered to himself, "I'll tell ya one thing, though—that drop box you got is faulty. If you really wanted to, you can open both slots at the same time…"

He inconspicuously tapped a finger to his forearm, and Liz saw that he'd wrapped the gauze around the burn. It took a second, but she eventually understood what he was telling her—she swallowed.

_Shit, he used the bandages to get out; it actually is my fault. _

She studied the floor, hoping Fury hadn't caught the sudden change in her face.

The director was too occupied with Rocket to notice her, "I'll only tell you this one more time—try to escape your cell again, succeed or fail, and you'll spend the rest of your days in solitary confinement."

_He's not kidding, _Liz mouthed to Rocket secretly.

He only scoffed, "Really? So like, I'd never have to look at any of ya ever again? And you'd leave me alone for good? Is that supposed to be a threat?"

"Can I go, too?" Liz added on almost involuntarily. Rocket snickered, Fury glared at her fiercely. He gestured towards the door, so Liz let her shoulders rise meekly, and she slowly headed for the door.

"Stay outta trouble, killer," she risked jesting over her shoulder.

"Yeah, I'll leave that to you," he replied, still laughing at her misfortune.

The cell was immediately sealed behind them, and Fury stood before her, his arms crossed. She stared down at her feet, knowing she'd pushed her luck too far. Again.

"I don't appreciate you encouraging its misconduct," he finally told her.

"I'm not—" She bit her tongue, knowing she'd already defied him enough for the day, "—I know. I'm sorry."

Liz intended for that to be the end of it, but couldn't help but blurt out in addition, "I just—I don't see why we can't just let him go. I mean, if he's causing all this trouble, is it even worth it?"

"We don't know if that's in our best interest, yet," he replied lowly.

She frowned, and trying to keep the sarcasm at a minimum, muttered, "… When exactly will we "know" that, do you think?"

His glare returned at her tone, and he gave her a long acid look before simply stating, "As soon as _it _starts talking."

A slow, burning sensation slowly rose into her cheeks when she realized he'd been calling Rocket an "it" the entire time, but rather than correct him, Liz inhaled slowly, swallowing it down again. Fury didn't wait for her self-control to falter; he set off down the hallway, half the agents trailing after him. The rest remained positioned in front of the cell, armed heavily.

Liz scowled, shoving her hands in her pockets and stalking off in the opposite direction of Fury.

"He's a _he_, you insensitive jerk," she growled coldly.

* * *

"_Twenty four… twenty five…" _Liz mouthed, keeping count of her reps. Her knuckles began to ache, so she switched to her palms, continuing the pushups. After another thirty reps, she rolled over onto her back, instantly starting with sit ups.

She heard someone in the hallway, but didn't pause, knowing she'd find out who it was soon enough.

The footsteps stopped at the door, "Miss Rachels?"

"Hi Coulson," she breathed without looking back, her ribs already beginning to give her trouble.

"Why are you out of bed?"

"Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd do something productive," was her short reply, determined to make thirty reps before her ribs gave out completely.

"…Is everything all right?" he asked, sounding suspicious.

"Yep."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Fine."

He was quiet for a second, "… Rand checked in on his mission, a few hours ago. He requested I tell you hello."

She smiled a little, but it faded instantly, "Cool."

Liz went down for her next rep, but when she rose again, Coulson was kneeling directly in front of her.

"What's the problem?" he asked again, this time without hesitation.

She only looked at him, trying to decide whether or not he was genuine. Finally she sighed, crossing a leg beneath herself to sit upright.

"It's… I'm starting to think keeping Rocket here isn't such a great idea," she admitted, trying to stay as vague as possible.

Coulson sat across from her in suit, "How so?"

"I just—I dunno, it just doesn't feel right," she replied, " I know, damn good reasoning that is. He's only causing trouble because we're keeping him locked up here. We should just let him go—we don't have to deal with him, he doesn't have to deal with us. Win-win."

Coulson nodded, "I see your point. I also expected you two would either hit it off instantly or constantly fight—how _are _you getting along, by the way?"

She shrugged, "Fine, I guess. We… kinda ganged up on Fury a few days back. He wasn't very happy with us."

He shook his head, "Liz… you shouldn't have encouraged him."

"Well, he had it coming! And it wasn't _all _my fault; Rocket did half the talking!" she found herself smirking again, "And what do you mean 'we'd hit it off or fight constantly'?"

"You're both very similar people," he explained simply.

Liz thought about it for a second, "… I don't see it."

Coulson broke into a smile, "Well, I didn't _mean _physically. But now that you point it out—"

"Oh, shut up!" she elbowed him in the arm, laughing. After a minute of this, she quieted down and added, "Also… I appreciate that you call Rocket a "him."

"As opposed to calling him what?" he asked, seeming legitimately confused.

"It," "the prisoner," or "the creature," she answered bitterly, "I've heard some creative ones."

Coulson didn't comment for a while, letting the silence persist.

Eventually, he let out a slow breath, "I understand where you're coming from. If it were up to me, I'd have let him leave, in the first place."

Liz perked up, "Then—"

"But it _isn't _up to me," he continued quickly, "It's up to Fury. And as agents, it's our place to follow his directions, whatever choice he makes."

"… Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Fury's not always right?" she suggested, withholding a scowl.

"Just because the consequence seems great doesn't make him wrong."

Liz frowned, "So if Fury told you guys to go slaughter a bunch of defenseless people, you'd listen to him just like that?"

"That's different."

"I don't think it is."

"Liz—listen," he began swiftly, but calmed, "… Listen. I know where you're coming from; you don't like taking orders, and most of the time you think you know better, and it's not just an age thing, I really understand that. But… you can't do everything yourself. Not everyone else is an idiot."

"I'm starting to think you, me and maybe Bruce are the only ones who follow that."

"That isn't my point—"

"Okay, so we'll throw Tony in there too."

"Liz—"

A siren began to screech from the hallway, and Coulson stood instantly.

"What did Fury lose this time?" Liz asked, putting no effort into the joke. Coulson had already run into the hall, conversing with another agent over an earpiece. He soon let out a breath, then said he'd be down momentarily.

He turned to Liz, looking irritated.

"Rocket is attempting an escape," he told her flatly.

Liz groaned, "Come on, again?! He could've given it a few days at least—"

Coulson set off down the hall quickly, "I'm going to have to ask you to accompany me to the containment wing, please."

"What? Why, what did I do?" she protested, but followed close behind him, nonetheless.

"You've gotten along with him minimally well thus far," he replied shortly, "Therefore it looks like any interaction on our behalf is going to be done through you."

"… Oh, _lucky me." _

While Coulson dashed through the corridors, Liz trailed behind a ways, hoping he didn't notice the painfully obvious limp she possessed. Only feet away from the containment level's doors however, he stopped dead in his tracks, giving her an opportunity to catch up.

"Are you sure?" Coulson questioned into the earpiece. After what seemed to be a confirmation, he sighed, "Alright. I'm on the way—have the agents ready to deploy when I arrive." He frowned at Liz, "He's gone."

She smiled briefly before hiding it, "Ah. That _is_ a shame."

"Just—go back to your room, please," Coulson requested, taking out his key card, "Alert someone if you happen to see anything."

"I will," she assured, having caused him enough additional frustration for the night. She headed back to her sleeping quarters, passed by numerous agents being called to aid in the search for their escapee. Liz smirked, wondering how long it would take them this time.

She got to her door and was just about to punch in her access code—then noticed that the panel was crooked.

"What the…" Liz reached out and fiddled with the glass panel, which was only just hanging from a series of wires, most of which had been torn and reattached at various places in the metal backing. Confused, she entered her code, and the door granted her access.

"Your security code is insultingly easy."

"_Gah!" _ Liz screeched and leapt back, crashing into the wall behind her. Rocket just sat on her bed, looking amused with himself.

"That terrifying, huh? Shoot, I wasn't even trying…"

"_What _are you doing here?!" she cut in.

"Uh, escaping?" he said simply, "What the hell do you think I'm doing, genius?"

"But why—" Liz shot up and checked the hall, "Why the—why are you in my room?! How are you in my room?!"

"I already told you; your password's about as complex as you are."

"But how—" She caught the insult, then glared at him. "Ha."

He met it with a smirk.

"I'm not joking—how did you even know which one was mine?"

"I don't have to tell you everything_," _he replied simply.

"_I'm not messing around!" _she snapped, no longer in the mood for his snark, "What are you trying to do, exactly?!"

"As I said a couple frickin' seconds ago, I'm _trying _to get outta here!" he shot back, "Ducked in here for a second, thinking maybe you wouldn't have that big a problem with it!"

"I'm not—no, no this is a bad idea," she checked the hall again, which was still empty for the time, "If they catch you again, you're getting thrown in solitary!"

"Well I guess I better not get caught then, should I?" His voice was drenched in sarcasm and he climbed off her bed, "Thanks for bein' useful, kid."

"Rocket I'm serious—" she tried to dissuade him.

"Yeah yeah, you said that already," he interrupted, passing her without thought.

"No—wait!" She bolted after him, "Rocket!"

He shushed her instantly, pausing at the corner to listen for approaching agents.

"Rocket, listen!" she snapped, getting tired of being ignored, "I'm only trying to—"

"Would ya shut up?" he hissed over his shoulder, "If you ain't gonna help me, go get your buddies and see if you can help 'em find me again—just quit bothering me!"

"Just listen—"

He darted around the corner instead.

Liz snarled, "That stubborn… _goddamn raccoon!_" She spun on her heels and went straight back to her bedroom.

"Rachels."

She stopped dead in her tracks, halting a string of curses that came too close to breaching into speech. Slowly, she turned to glance back in the hallway, then forced a wide smile.

"May I help you, director?"

Fury of course didn't return the expression, "What are you doing up?"

"I was training," she answered shortly, "Coulson told me to come back here while you guys looked for Rocket."

He approached swiftly, staring her down. Determined, Liz stood her ground.

"Have you seen him?" he questioned bluntly.

Liz hesitated, "Seen him… when?"

"Recently."

She didn't answer immediately, careful not to let her eyes wander down the opposite hallway.

"Um…"

"Rachels_._"

Coulson's advice came to mind, making her doubt her initial plan. She bit her lip, considering it. But she couldn't just—

"_Now, Rachels."_

Liz took in a breath and nodded, "He went down that hall."

Fury stepped back, then gestured to his agents. They rushed down the hallway, guns drawn in preparation.

"Hey—Fury!" she called after him, "Don't—don't shoot him!"

"That will depend on its level of cooperation," he responded, not breaking stride.

Once again, Liz scowled.

"_His," _she muttered, louder this time.

Instead of returning to her room, she lingered around in the hall as much as her knee would allow. Every so often she heard the dull pangs of gunfire, making her halt temporarily. Eventually she lengthened the route of her incessant pacing, trying to catch a glimpse of the commotion.

Suddenly, the blaring alarm ceased, catching her off guard. She froze, stopping near the containment wing's doors.

Soon enough, a crowd of agents appeared, led by Fury. Liz swallowed—now would be a good time to get the hell out of there. Keeping her head down, Liz tried to sneak off down the hall, hoping to be out of earshot before anyone could call her back again.

It proved futile, as she was quickly spotted.

"You two-faced, back-stabbing, lying _traitor_!" Rocket yelled after her, sounding furious.

Liz flinched, but shoved her hands in her pockets and pressed on. She thought she heard him fire some additional curses after her, but was certain of the loud crackle of electricity that followed.

By now, guilt was staring to loom, so she picked up the pace. As she tried to enter her clearance code again, the screen fizzed, then after a wave of static, went black. Subsequently locking her out.

"Of course," she breathed, punching the wall before sitting against it, "Of course! "

With a sigh, she crossed a leg beneath her, knowing it would be a while before anyone else returned to their bunks. It was freezing in the hallway. Liz wrapped her arms around herself, having made the mistake of wearing a tank shirt. Because apparently every choice she'd made up to that point in the night had resulted in a mistake.

She let out a breath, allowing her head to fall back and hit the wall.

_I screwed up._

_Again._

_…_

_If there was a punch-card deal for this, I wouldn't feel nearly as bad._


	5. Chapter 5

**This one seems to be full of smart-alecky comments and people verbally biting one another's heads off. Which could be fun. Enjoy!**

Someone knocked on her door.

"Fury?" she called out, sounding tired.

"No."

"Come in then."

Bruce was smirking when he entered, "You know he would never let you get away with that, right?"

"Well I guess I'd better not get caught then," she replied, then frowned.

He sat on the bed beside her, "Is there a problem?"

She shrugged, meshing something in her hands.

"What's that?"

"Stress toy," she said, "Pete gave it to me as a joke." She held it up so he could see; it was small and gray, made of foam and well-worn around the middle. It also sported pink ears, large eyes and a dopey grin.

"A mouse?" he identified.

"Shadow _Cat_, you know," was her flat explanation.

"Ah." Bruce gave her a questioning look, "I guess it doesn't work for you?"

She flung it across the room.

He cringed a little, "… I'm going to take that as a no."

When she didn't offer a rebuttal, Bruce sat back on the same level as her.

"What's bothering you?" he asked, "And "nothing" isn't an acceptable answer."

Liz broke into a sly smile, "Not much, then."

"Nice try."

"Was it a nice success, too?"

"It was not."

After a quick laugh, she decided to cooperate, "Okay, so… I was talking to Coulson a few nights ago—about SHIELD and stuff." She lowered her tone, "And Fury."

Beside her, Bruce let out a slow breath, as if expecting this, "You know I… I can't exactly give any insight on this topic, right?"

"Yeah, I know," she assured and went on, "He just talked about Fury having the best in mind and having to make hard choices…" It was here that she scoffed, "And that basically I should just give in and do whatever he orders me to."

Bruce was silent.

"Okay, so he didn't just say that—but that's pretty much what he meant," she corrected. "So I tried to follow his advice and do it—well, that didn't work, because now I feel like even more of a jack-ass! I was better off just doing my own thing, in the first place!"

Still, he didn't comment.

Liz stopped talking, a little miffed, realizing she really would get no input from him.

He glanced over, "Sorry I can't be of more help. I'm not…" Bruce sighed, "It's best I don't get involved in… discussions like this." He wrung his hands a little as he spoke, and Liz caught on.

"Okay—I got it," she accepted quickly, "It's good—here, you know what?" In another second she rolled to her feet, swept up the previously hurled stress mouse and handed it to him, "His name is Jack. Monterey Jack."

Bruce gave the toy a squeeze—it squeaked.

He smiled, "Cute."

She sat beside him again, "Sorry, I know the last thing you want to hear is me ranting about authority; Tony probably gives you enough of that, already."

"Yes, but I've come to expect it from the both of you by now." He chuckled, "And I think for now, maybe you should just weather it out. Give it some time—so you can see the bigger picture. See if that helps."

"Yeah, maybe," she gave in unenthusiastically.

Bruce didn't further his suggestion, and instead squeaked the toy again. It didn't fail to draw out another small smile.

"May I borrow this? I mean, if you're not using it."

She nodded, "Sure. You're right, it doesn't work for me. It's kind of annoying, really."

He then proceeded to squeak it in quick succession, "Is that so?"

Liz mock-glared at him, "You jerk—you know I can't do anything about it!"

"That's the idea."

Before he could bait her further, there was another knock on the door.

"Fury?" she yelled, deciding she'd continue the joke a while longer.

"It's still _Director _to you, _Rachels."_

She went rigid. Then swallowed.

"Just a moment, please," she replied, her voice much tenser than before. Bruce was scratching the side of his face inconspicuously—in other words, hiding his wide grin at her expense.

"Oh shut up," she breathed, her face already burning for the confrontation ahead. Knowing that keeping him waiting would only make things worse, Liz strode to the door and opened it. Fury's arms were crossed, and he stared down at her impatiently.

She offered a meek smile, not wanting to tempt fate (out loud) again.

"Agent Rachels." He nodded briefly into the room, "Doctor Banner."

"Director."

_Kiss up, _she mouthed back to him, receiving only a shrug.

"We require your assistance," Fury told her flatly, "If you aren't too busy at the moment."

"Alright."

Fury didn't press for a better confirmation, and instead walked out, expecting her to follow.

"See you, Bruce," she muttered, trudging after the director unwillingly.

To her silent relief, Fury led them right to an elevator. They stepped inside, and as it sunk into the depths of the helicarrier, he offered a partial explanation.

"In case you're wondering, it's about the prisoner," he told her.

She frowned, "Yeah, I kinda figured."

"It seems to me that you're the only one thus far who's succeeded in forming a non-hostile relationship with it—"

"_Him."_

Fury stopped, "Come again?"

Liz was just as surprised as he was, "Nothing. Sorry, go on."

He gave her a suspicious glance before continuing, "You seem to be the only one able to confront it without provoking a violent reaction in response."

"Well… yeah, before last night, I guess." She shoved her hands in her pockets, "Kinda screwed that up when I sent you guys after him."

"We'll determine how successful you are after you try," he told her simply.

"Uh-huh." Liz stared at her feet, "So what do you want me to do, exactly?"

The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open.

"Get any information you can," Fury said, walking out.

"So… interrogation," she repeated, then sighed, "Oh great."

It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but there wasn't much to see once they had. The doors were sunken deep into the walls, though agents were oddly vacant from them. Odd… considering it was solitary confinement; you know, where the most _dangerous _were kept! In truth, only one seemed occupied: a monitor next to the door shone dimly, but Liz could see no one inside.

"Hey… Fury, I think you lost one," she called after him. The director paused, but after seeing the cell, only scoffed.

"He heard us coming—now he's hiding."

Liz waited for him to continue, but Fury had already left her behind again. She glowered, knowing he was only withholding a straight answer to vex her.

"Rachels."

She followed without further comment, determined to get this awkward encounter over with. If anything, it would give her a chance to attempt some sort of apology…

But then again, maybe she could make her pace a _little_ slower. There wasn't a reason to hurry.

A few agents lingered around one of the cells, where Fury was clearly getting impatient. She trudged over, awaiting his orders.

"You ever had to do this before?" a redheaded agent asked her, instead. Liz shook her head. "Well, it's a lot more complicated than you'd think. There's a series of procedures you need to follow for your own safety."

"Oh I'm sure," she said offhandedly. The agent apparently didn't catch her sarcasm, because he then began to launch into said procedures. He rambled on for a good few minutes: what to do if the prisoner attacked, what methods of interrogation were and were not allowed, how to signal different such-and-such situations without speaking or whatever… it didn't take long for her to zone out.

"You got all that?"

"Absolutely."

The agent nodded, then looked to his partner, "Ready to enter."

On command, the agents drew their arms, standing at the ready. Agent Redhead used his key card to gain access, then with almost surgeon-like precision, cracked open the door.

Liz could only resist the urge to give him a good jump-scare knowing it would probably earn her a chest full of bullet-holes.

Redhead entered first, keeping up a hand to tell her to stay back.

"Go to the corner of your cell and face the wall, or we _will _open fire!" Redhead snapped inside, making Liz roll her eyes at his theatrics. She was actually disappointed when she didn't catch a taunting rebuttal, and the agent beckoned her inside. Or, to be more accurate, he shoved her inside and then slammed the door behind her.

She nearly stumbled, "Hey, thanks for easing me into that!" After a second, hearing nothing, she turned slowly—and caught a death-filled glare from Rocket. He was slouching in a corner of the tiny cell (the longest wall was only about as long as she was tall), bound in a straitjacket. And man, did he look _pissed_.

_Oh goodie, _she thought, knowing this was going to be painful. She took in a breath, remaining where she was.

"… Okay, so I know you're probably mad at me—"

_"Yeah I'm mad— you selfish frickin' bitch!"_

Well. That didn't take long to worsen.

"Hey, just—"

"_No! Shut the hell up!_" he snapped, then jeered suddenly, "Actually, no! What else do I got to say about you—_I'm _the frickin' idiot here! It's my own damn fault— of frickin' _course _you were just doing it for your frickin' idiot pals of yours!"

"I wasn't—"

"No, don't try that frickin' shit with me!" By now he'd risen to his feet, starting to approach; Liz stood her ground, but warily.

"I didn't even _do _anything to you bastards—I crashed my ship, okay?! Yeah, because I'd frickin' intentionally do that! If you'd have just left me the hell alone for a while, I could'da been outta here already!" He bared his teeth a little, "God knows I wouldn't stick around and screw with you morons if I had the frickin' choice!"

"Rocket—"

"Can you _not take a hint, dammit?!_" he snarled, making a sudden lunge towards her. This time, Liz took a step back, fully expecting an attack. It made him stop, then sneer.

"I ain't planning on biting anything else on you, ya frickin' coward," Rocket assured, "I'm satisfied with the damage I did. And I don't want another goddamn kick in the head for it."

Liz gave him a look, "But I never—"

"I didn't _say _you, idiot."

She paused, taken by surprise. However, she used the momentary break in his ranting to cut in.

"But— don't you have friends—or anyone else who'll come looking for you?" she asked, trying to sound as non-provocative as possible.

Rocket let out a short laugh, "Yeah, right." His tone got even darker and he muttered, "If they ain't dead already, they've got better things to do than try to figure out where their frickin' pet went."

She stared at him, silent. For a moment he just stood, staring at the ground. But he quickly regained his rage, snarling at her again.

"No, you know what—you don't—no, I'm not gonna make that frickin' mistake again!" He turned his back on her completely, "Ya want me to keep talking. I ain't givin' you nothing else to work with."

Liz frowned, "Rocket—"

"Piss off."

"No—just listen to me," she insisted, "I'm sorry."

She heard him scoff; he returned to the cell's corner and sat, keeping his back to her.

Liz huffed, "I'm serious. Look, I shouldn't have betrayed you—it was kinda my job at stake, alright?!" After a second, she continued without attitude. "… I know that's a stupid excuse. I really am sorry. What they—hell, what _we're _doing is wrong. And I mean to fix that."

He continued to ignore her. After a long period of silence, when she said nothing else, he glared at her over his shoulder.

"You expect that'll clear things up, then?" he questioned coldly.

She didn't hold his gaze, "No."

He turned around again. She was done here.

Liz knocked on the cell door, "Hey, I'm finished."

"Miss Rachels?"

"What do _you _think?"

One of the agents unlocked the door, and she bolted out quickly.

"Well?" Fury questioned, "What did you find out?"

Liz considered being honest—but that notion vanished almost immediately.

"He wasn't in the mood to cooperate today," she replied quietly. She knew he was waiting for more, but she didn't deliver, keeping her head down. If Fury noticed the rapid mood-swing, he didn't say mention it.

"… I expect you to try again tomorrow. Same time." When she didn't protest, he jerked his head down in a nod, "You're dismissed."

She turned on her heels and left before he could question her any more.

* * *

Liz rolled onto her back. Then her stomach. Her side. Her other side. And again her back.

The clock read 2:43. She'd checked it less than five minutes ago.

She groaned, exhausted yet unable to sleep, going over the same premise multiple times: what SHIELD was doing was wrong. She _knew _that—why _couldn't _they just let Rocket go? What harm would it do? Frankly, more harm was befalling _them_ the longer he has there.

Of course she knew what Fury's reasoning would be: "He could be a threat. We can't trust him. We have to be sure…"

_Bull_—he _wants _to leave! He came here by accident (hence the crash) and wouldn't have sought them out in the first place!

That is… assuming Rocket _was _telling the truth, in the first place.

Liz was disappointed in herself, sounding as distrustful as the director. There was cautious, and then there was paranoid. Who, Fury? Paranoid? The man who had at least three contingency plans for every trivial choice and probably slept with a pair of pistols at night? _Nah_.

Trying to clear her head, she returned to her side. Didn't she join SHIELD to actually make a difference? To help people out on a bigger scale?

Well in actuality, she only joined because a couple of their EMTs spent hours reviving her from a knife to the gut. How was she expected to say no after that?

She let out a long breath; try to ignore it as she might, what _she _wanted and what SHIELD wanted were clearly two different things. And, eventually, she was gonna have to choose one of them.

A choice wasn't made that night, though. Her thoughts ran on loop instead, assuring she remained wide awake.

**Well that had a good amount of colorful language- thanks, Rocket. Niiice enthusiasm.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed- thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Holy Moses, this one took a while. I wrote the whole thing in a single 5-hour sitting of Mountain Dew fueled creativity. *That's* how I know it's gonna be good. Or filled with repetitive adjectives. Enjoy!**

Liz uneagerly returned to the solitary wing, dragging her feet as she went.

Instead of Fury, Coulson awaited her (she was incredibly thankful for that) at the cell. It didn't take long for him to notice the change in her demeanor.

"You look a little tired," he commented.

She shrugged slightly, "Long night."

He gestured towards the cell, "Are you still alright doing this?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she answered, taking a second to rub her eyes drowsily, "So are there cameras or microphones or stuff like that in there?"

"… No, on this one there isn't," he told her cautiously, "Why do you ask?"

"Because I was just thinking that the other ones did—and it would be kinda pointless having to relay all this stuff to Fury if he could just hear it himself, and all."

"I see," Coulson said, but his hesitation made her suspect he didn't believe the reasoning entirely, "No, the only thing we have in that respect is a motion sensor in the floor; anything else is liable to aid in an escape."

"Makes sense." As Coulson began to let her in, she asked, "Well if that's the case, has he uh… been doing anything suspicious "movement-wise"?"

He shook his head, "Not as long as I've been observing him, no. He's stayed in one place for a while, now."

"Fantastic."

Coulson stepped back from the door, "Well… good luck."

She mumbled her thanks and passed him to enter the cell, closing the door carefully behind her.

Once again, from the moment she walked in, she was subject to his vengeful glare.

"Great," he growled, "Why are _you _back?"

"I said I would be."

"Sure, but I just assumed it'd turn out to be another lie."

She was getting pretty good at screwing things up from the get-go, wasn't she? Well, at least she and SHIELD had one thing in common.

For some reason, he looked different than usual. Liz tried to study him inconspicuously, not able to put a finger on it.

He slouched even more, the collar of the straitjacket riding up his neck—now that she looked at it, the whole thing draped him almost comically, wrinkles and extra folds of the fabric gathering at the seams.

"Not to change the subject or anything," she spoke up, "But has that thing always been so loose on you?"

He shot her a look, "I don't frickin' know! It doesn't really matter!"

She stuck to this tangent, "Rocket, when was the last time they fed you?"

"They haven't."

Liz stopped completely.

"… _What."_

"I got told up-front that that was gonna work on a "behavior" basis." He shrugged, "Didn't behave. Didn't get fed."

She stared at him, hoping it was a joke.

He got annoyed with her expression quickly, "What?! I answered your damn question, already!"

Abruptly, she turned, then proceeded to bang on the door.

"_Coulson_!"

The door flew open almost instantly—but when he saw she wasn't in mortal peril, he looked annoyed.

"Is there a problem?" he asked sternly.

"He said you guys have been starving him out for information!" she snapped.

Coulson gained a similar expression, "… _What."_

"That's what I said!" she blurted, "What, did you just _miss _that part or something?! I thought you were in charge of this case!"

"I'm not—I didn't know this was happening," Coulson argued, measuring his tone appropriately. It didn't fool Liz, not for a damn minute.

"Go get him something," she ordered.

"Liz," he cautioned, "We shouldn't be interfering with—"

"_Are you kidding me, Coulson?" _she cut in, "You're joking—you have to be joking! Tell me you're okay with this!"

"Liz. Calm down," he told her strictly. "Listen. There has to be some sort of reasoning—"

"There is reasoning—and it's stupid reasoning!" she interrupted, starting to feel her face flush, "Behavior basis? Oh sure—because _when _has a prisoner ever shown _any _sign of not wanting to cooperate? I mean, it's such an odd occurrence—a rarity, really."

"Elizabeth—"

"No, you know what? Here, I'll fix that!" She snapped her head around, "Rocket, give me an estimate of how much you hate any one of us right now."

"A whole frickin' lot. In your case, more than words can do justice," he hissed.

Liz forced a smiled at Coulson, "See? He answered—cooperation. Now get him food."

Coulson let out a slow breath, studying a choice spot on the wall behind her. It was only now, taking a break from the chastising of her superior, that she saw the vein throbbing in his forehead. And another in his neck. And she realized that he too was pissed- most likely with her.

"… Stay here," he told her quietly, "I want you outside the cell while I'm gone."

She decided to cooperate, a little guiltily. Coulson promptly left her there, practically stalking away without further instruction.

_Starting to wonder if I went overboard a little, _she mused.

_No, you think? What was it that tipped you off, exactly? The fact that you mouthed off Coulson, or that you probably raised your blood pressure a few points with how loud you did it?_

_… Thinking the first one._

It was a vacant few minutes before Coulson returned, and Liz hid a cringe when she saw his face hadn't changed. Wordlessly, he handed her a paper bag, cold and stiff from the fridge. Liz had a feeling she was going to be a prime suspect when someone came looking for it.

"Thanks," she said meekly, doing her best to avoid eye contact. He opened the cell door for her, still silent. She entered— and was welcomed by a customary scowl. She preferred it to Coulson's stoic fuming.

"Here" she said shortly, setting the bag on the floor a foot or so away from him, then sat herself against the opposite wall.

He eyed the bag suspiciously, then made her the object of speculation, "What is it?"

"I didn't check inside, but it's food—Coulson got it, so I doubt it's poisoned," she told him flatly.

There was a momentary twitch in Rocket's flattened ears, but they remained in place.

"I don't want it."

"I'm pretty sure you do," she replied, not bothering to disguise the impatience in her tone, "Not trusting me doesn't change it."

He remained rooted in the corner, glaring at her. Clearly, his stubborn determination to be deemed uncooperative and independent outweighed his desire for food.

But Liz was just as stubborn, and she had time to kill. She crossed a leg underneath her, extending the other stiffly (cursed brace) while keeping eye-contact. He growled audibly, deepening his slouch—two could play at this game.

Liz rolled her eyes, "Come on now—what do you have to lose?"

"I'm not dead yet," he said matter-of-factly, "So there's that."

"Don't know how long you can keep bragging about it, if you don't eat," she shot back in the same manner.

Her satisfaction only grew at the snarl that followed, "Shut up."

She smirked, "Oh, stop whining—you walked into that."

He promptly turned his back on her in favor of the wall.

Liz's expression faded, "So you can snap at me all you want, but as soon as _I _get in a good one, you chicken out of it?"

"Would you piss off, already?" he barked, sounding more exasperated than enraged, "I don't want anything you've got, alright? Don't wanna be owing you nothing."

Liz actually laughed, "_Owe me? _What the heck are you talking about?" When he didn't answer, she elaborated, "I've done a hell of a lot more to you. You don't owe me a thing."

She saw him jeer, "Well for once you're not wrong."

There was silence for a while, neither making a move. Liz occupied herself by adjusting the straps on her brace, but her attention was covertly glued to Rocket. It was no great observation that as much as he tried to remain vigilantly disinterested, his eyes kept sweeping back to the bag. They both knew he was starving—but the persistent little bastard wasn't going to let her win this easily.

She decided to crawl forward (resulting in a stunted drag), which gained an odd look from Rocket. Her cheeks reddened fiercely.

"What?" she snapped sharply, "Shit happens, legs break."

"I didn't even say nothing!" he retorted, "Frickin' touchy…"

Liz let out a quick breath, then closed the distance between her and the bag. She riffled through the contents to distract herself: half a sandwich and a bottle of water. What luxury.

She glanced up again, deciding to let patience have its way again.

"I at least want you to drink something," she reasoned, "At least you'd be able to tell pretty quickly if it was tampered with."

He grunted.

"I didn't hear a no," she chimed before he could add anything, "Come here; I'll let you out of the stupid straitjacket."

He gave her a quizzical expression, "What, so I can claw eyes out?"

"That is a concern," she agreed, "But I guess we'll find out."

Rocket wasn't convinced; he stared her down harshly, searching for a crack in her demeanor. He must've come up empty handed though, because he soon scoffed.

"You're an idiot," he said bluntly, "But you're lucky I'm not in the mood for eye-gouging, right now." He moved from the corner, but only an inch or two, "And _you_ can come to me, limp-along. I don't go crawling to no one."

Liz scowled, but only for a few seconds—at long last, minimal cooperation. She stood, doing her best to walk normally (not at all influenced by his quip) and sat down within an arm's reach of him. There was a moment of fierce warning from his steady glare before he shifted, giving her access to the straps at his back. His gaze remained fixed squarely on her hands.

She ignored his extreme mistrust and began to unbind him. There were at least five separate fasteners which she found, to her displeasure, tightened mercilessly. She worked her way down a strap at a time, fiddling with the one that disabled his arms. It had been knotted several times over the initial fastener—someone wanted to be sure it stayed put. Frankly, she couldn't fault them too much.

"There," she said, "That should help."

As soon as he felt the slack, Rocket uncrossed his arms. Silently, he rolled both shoulders a few times, stretching as much as the loosened sleeves would allow. He didn't speak, but Liz caught the abrupt contortions of his face that appeared then vanished without comment. She started to unzip the back of the jacket—then dropped it at his startled reaction.

"What the hell do you think—"

"Calm down!" she assured, putting up both hands in defense, "It's so you can take your arms out, if you want. Since the sleeves are sewn shut."

He seemed to back down, but promptly swiveled around to face her, pulling the fabric around him until he was seated fully. Cautiously, he removed his arms one at a time, then tied the sleeves at his back, using the jacket's body to conceal his chest. It seemed arbitrary, but Liz didn't question him.

While he extended and flexed his sore limbs (taking painstaking measures to control his facial expressions, this time), Liz pulled the bag to her side again, taking out the water bottle. She inconspicuously loosened the top, then rolled it over to him.

Rocket swiped up the bottle, studying it meticulously—only to remove the cap, discard it hastily, and start to chug. Liz blinked—in no time at all, he tossed the empty bottle aside.

"Lemme make this simple enough for you to understand," he warned, "This doesn't change a damn thing. I still don't like or trust you in the slightest."

"Sure," she replied flatly, passing him the bag next, "I know you said no to it before, but should you change your mind…"

He scowled at her in an _I don't like your tone_ sort of way, so she added "I'm not holding anything against you, I hope you know. You don't have to be so tenacious."

There was a hint of ridicule in his voice when he replied, "Well your fancy talk certainly isn't helpin' ya, _kid_."

It was her turn to answer with a glare. She was not a _child._

Rocket only rolled his eyes, making up his mind the rummage through the bag. His nose twitched visibly, a few times in quick succession, and he removed the sandwich. This time, he didn't even hesitate—he scarfed it down.

"For all you know, someone could've poisoned that," she commented mockingly. He pretended he didn't hear her. When he was finished, he balled up the paper bag, meshing it between his hands without consideration.

"I'd say Quill makes 'em better," he muttered, mostly to himself.

Liz sat up, "Quill?"

"Pal of mine," he responded briskly, "Terran, like you, I'm guessin'."

"Terran?" she repeated, confused, "You mean human?"

"Whatever," he waved away, "Same thing."

"So… you know other humans?" she continued, legitimately curious, now.

"Sure. Most of 'em are assholes—never mind, I'd say all of 'em are, but that's not exclusive to them. Not a whole bunch out there, no." He went back to rolling his shoulders while he spoke, massaging the muscles with a will.

"What are people like, where you're from?" Liz asked, pulling a knee to her chest to sit comfortably.

Rocket scoffed, "Jackasses, all of them. Every single damn one a lying cheating jackass—" His sneer glinted, "So a lot like here, really."

Liz couldn't help it—she grinned.

"Well if they're anything like you, then I'd believe it," she retorted.

There was an immediate flash of something across his features—it seemed so spontaneous, she almost missed it. When it faded, his face was hardened again.

"Nah. Ain't no thing like me, 'cept me." His tone made her assume he'd remembered his refusal to give a straight answer.

_What? What did I say wrong this time?!_

"If you say so," she finally accepted, not daring to ask about her mistake.

He grunted, "I do." To further emphasize his certainty, he pegged her with the balled up bag. Liz didn't flinch—she nailed him right back.

"Hey!" he barked, "Watch it!"

Liz shrugged innocently, "You started it—_you_ watch it."

Instead of scowling, he smirked, "Need I remind you the claws are free now? Might wanna watch _your_ mouth, instead of mine."

She had full confidence in his capabilities to tear her a new one of anything he chose—so she bit her tongue, tolerantly. For a while.

"Bet you get along wonderfully with others, huh?" she couldn't help but joke.

"Cooperation's not part of my usual practices," he flicked right back, "Got a few I stick with; they piss me off the least outta anyone I've been forced to interact with."

"One of them's the human?"

"Yeah, Quill. Kind of an idiot—well they all are, but especially him. Then there's the broad—she's a scary sack of… I dunno, something deadly. With claws and teeth. Not her, I meant—screw it, never mind. We don't mess with her." He listed them off on a hand absently, "We got the tough guy—Quill's the main idiot, but he's a close second. Doesn't get a word of what we're sayin' half the time, but the guy can rip out a spine when he needs to—gotta say, I respect that."

He paid no attention to Liz's shudder and continued flippantly, "And of course, the lumbering bark-brain himself. The tree's the only one I can handle most of the time—not much of a talker. Eh, think I respect that more than spine-ripping. Certainly doesn't hurt he can do both."

"A tree?"

"He's more intimidating than he sounds."

"I guess I'll have to take your word for it," she said, then more gently, added on, "Now why would a group like _that_ not come looking for you?"

Rocket shrugged, "They've got other things on their mind. Can't exactly just roam around as we please, you know; jerks out there want money and we've got it. Even if most the time that's really more pertaining to what we end up doing… never mind." He recollected the bag-ball and flattened it, "Besides, seriously doubting I'd even be here if they were stupid enough to even try to—"

"Well where else would you be?" she interrupted suspiciously, prepared to stomp out the flames of another grand escape attempt.

His expression was expected, his words were not: "Dead. What do you think, genius?"

"Excuse me?" she asked, thinking she'd missed something, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well I just assumed that as soon as I stop being useful and all your guys' tolerance runs out, I was gonna get axed off." The simplicity with which he said it left her aghast—and it was plastered on her face.

"_What the hell are you talking about?!" _she blurted incredulously, "No! Good God, no! No one's gonna kill you!"

He let out a short laugh, "Oh yeah? What makes you so sure, limpy?"

"I—we would never do something like that!" she swore, "I mean, Fury's an insensitive bastard of a… er, but regardless, he'd never make a call like that! He's a human being, for God's sake!"

Rocket scrunched his nose, "Gotta say, having met my share of 'em, that ain't really convincing stuff there."

Liz tried to argue—but it came out as a useless hiss of air. To her own surprise, she didn't have much else to back up her claim. That… wasn't a good sign.

There was a muffled knocking at the cell door, bringing her back to reality. She wondered if Coulson would let her hide out there for a little while longer…

"So I'm guessin' you'll probably have to tie me up again, huh?" he muttered, "So you won't get fired or whatever."

The bitterness he spat it with made her cringe, and she only gave a guilty, "I think you're right."

He rolled his eyes, mumbling a low "whatever" among other choice terms, begrudgingly replacing his arms inside the bound sleeves. Liz returned to his side, unwilling to tie him up, once again. She noticed he no longer went to the lengths of observing her every move (it could be trust, but more than likely he just cared even less than before), so she didn't bring it up.

"Do me a favor," she requested, "After I zip it, I'll do the straps—when I do, take a deep breath and hold it."

"Why?" he asked shortly, "What are you playing at now?"

"It'll make the straitjacket looser after I tie it," she told him simply.

He didn't reply, but followed her instructions when she got to the first strap. She made it a point to keep them loose— all the better for him, should he manage to slip out.

"That better?" she asked, being sure to put her hands where he could see them, again. He let out a huff, then shifted where he sat.

"Yeah, I guess," he said quietly, then tried to reinforce the fact that he was unimpressed, "What, you learn this from experience or something? Not that I'm surprised or anything."

Liz smiled, "Maybe I did. I like the image that presents." She recollected the crushed bag, knowing full well that should she peg him now, he'd be unable to retaliate. "And don't worry, the meal's not gonna be a one-time thing. That'd be kind of a cruel tease—and frankly, that's not how I fly."

He didn't answer, so she decided to call it a day. She pulled herself to her feet without additional comment, then walked back to the door.

"Why are you doing this?"

Her steps faltered; for once, he seemed to refer to her without sarcasm. She thought she'd heard someone else, because of it.

Liz glanced back, "Doing what?"

"Oh don't start that—the food, the gauze, all that stuff—what the hell are you tryin' to get outta me?"

"I'm not trying to get anything out of you," she insisted, "I just want to help you."

Rocket snorted heavily, "Uh-huh. Yeah, and I value the opinions of others. Why are you _really _doing it?"

She made a beeline straight back, then ignoring the fiery agony it caused, knelt down in front of him.

"I meant what I said the first time," she insisted, "And I meant what I said before that—I messed up, turning you in like that. And, I'll add, if it were up to me, you'd have been let out a long time ago."

He stared at her, unblinkingly and unreadable. There was a long span of silence between them, broken only by a repeated banging on the door.

"… Well that's nice," he eventually managed, "Except it ain't up to you, right? Ol' Eye-Patch Trench Coat's the guy for that."

Liz scoffed, "Sad but true." The door unlatched behind her, so she returned to her feet, "But Fury's word isn't law, at least not in my book—and "Ol' Eye-Patch" isn't gonna scare me into it."

She turned on her heel—and stopped short of plowing into Fury, who was waiting impatiently in the doorway. To say the very least, she was surprised—Liz yelped.

Fury was clearly amused by her reaction, then stepped back to allow her to pass. Liz risked a glance backwards; Rocket was trying to withhold a grin and failing miserably. She offered a brief nod, and was grateful when he returned it, though a little stiffer than the one she'd given.

The cell was sealed off after her, and Fury went right to the point.

"What did you learn?"

Liz mulled it over, unsure how much would be safe to reveal.

"Well… he told me that there's other humans from where he is—didn't see that coming," she informed, hoping to find a rabbit trail and stick to it. Fury didn't take the bait; he nodded solemnly, signaling her to continue.

"And… I think I remember him saying something about a team he's from," Liz saw potential in this subject and continued, "Pretty much with his attitude but bigger. And stronger. They're sorta like outlaws, I think?"

There was a surprising lack of commentary from his end.

_This might actually be working, _she realized in excitement.

"They've been together for a few years now. I think… I think that means they might be coming for him." Liz tried to make her implication as blatantly obvious as possible, watching the director closely.

Fury pondered this without further questioning, no longer looking at her. He made a low sound of recognition, followed by a slight motion of his hand that seemed to suggest she was dismissed. Liz didn't give him a chance to change his mind, and instead sped off for the elevator.

"I'll be damned—that went pretty well," she cheered mildly to herself, feeling a great deal better than she did before.

Well. She was… half right.

* * *

**Heh, now that I look at it, that's a cruel way to leave off.**

**Excellent. I'll keep it. Also, that was slightly long, wasn't it? Huh. This one ended up being my favorite, up to this point, nevertheless. I sure love the word "expression," don't I?**

**Thank you for reading anyway, and I hope you enjoyed!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sheesh, this one gave me trouble for some reason. But I have completed the chapter and stand victorious. HA.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Liz surveyed the empty break room; this mission required the utmost stealth and secrecy… failure was _not _an option. In and out, ten seconds tops. She drew in a breath, then with a steady hand, reached inside the corner cabinet…

Moments later, she made a mad dash down the hall, stuffing a large chocolate bar into her pocket. _Mission accomplished._

The glee of success flooding her senses, she made a hasty turn around the corner, only a few yards from the safety of her room—and missed a head-on collision by a matter of inches. She skidded to a halt, hurriedly praying it wasn't someone who'd reprimand her for running in the hallway.

She got lucky—it was Bruce.

"I'm assuming your knee is presenting less of a problem?" he inquired, the slight taunting in his voice unmistakable.

"It's better," she answered, "The brace is a pain to get around in."

"You've been wearing it, then?" He looked impressed, "Good. That will help… assuming you don't do any further damage… overusing it by running, for instance."

Well, it was bound to come up eventually. Liz rolled her eyes.

"I didn't run into you, did I?" she argued, "Got places to be—and thanks to a certain someone, anything with a working motor isn't allowed outside the hangar."

"Maybe it's for the best," he suggested, but he was smiling at mention of the incident, "You weren't stealing from Jeffrey's sugar cabinet, were you?"

"Pft, no."

Bruce looked skeptical, then pointed to something behind her. In her haste, she'd apparently been evaded by the candy, which was lying face-up in the middle of the floor.

Her grin sank into a cringe, "It was… I could've easily taken it all, you know! One piece was being gracious!" She hurriedly recollected her spoils, tucking it into the inside of her belt, concealed by the shirt, "If he didn't want people to know about it, he should've picked a better hiding spot."

He only skimmed the various papers he was holding with renewed interest—she interpreted it as an "I suppose I didn't see anything incriminating, then." She was about to take her leave when he glanced up again.

"Oh, by the way," he seemed to remember, "You've been doing interrogations, right?"

Her hesitation was blatant, "…Yes."

"How is that coming along?"

"Fine."

"… Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

The honest answer was a short "no," but she had a feeling it wouldn't put an end to the questioning.

"He's… Rocket's not the most cooperative, is all," she said simply, "He still doesn't exactly trust me—not since I got him caught, the last time he tried to make a run for it."

"You were just doing your job."

The statement had a ring of truth to it, but probably not in the way Bruce had intended.

"Yeah," she repeated, "I am…" It loosened something, and she revealed with a breath, "I haven't been telling Fury half the stuff I've heard."

Bruce seemed to hesitate, "You haven't? Why?"

"Because… because it's not worth it, dammit! We can't keep doing this!" She was irritated at how much of a broken record she was turning into, "I mean—they were actually _starving _him out for information!"

"… That's awful," he commented quietly. It sounded genuine, but he was obviously detached—he didn't want to get into this again. Liz didn't let him off, this time.

"Of course—and I'll bet he's not even the first one they've done it to, either!" She broke off, running a clenched hand through her hair, tugging at the roots, "I can't keep doing this, Bruce. I can't keep playing by Fury's rules!"

He gave her a look of warning, "Liz. Be careful with what you're saying."

She started to argue, but was sharply cut off by a hand.

"I want you to listen to me," he instructed, lowly and sternly, "This isn't something you go yelling and making a scene about—things like this could end up starting revolts, most of the time by people notorious for taking things too far."

Liz didn't reply, a simmering sensation beginning to arise within her chest: time for another edition of the "stop complaining and bear it" lecture. _Just _what she wanted to hear.

"I think you have some legitimate concerns; I'd be lying if I said I haven't considered some, myself. But instead of complaining about them, you need to _act."_

Whoa. That was new.

"Really?!" she blurted, far above his hushed tone.

"_Yes," _he hissed, reminding her to keep quiet, "But please, don't do anything rash." There was a distinct seriousness in his next words, "Sooner or later, you're going to end up having a choice to make: something with irrevocable consequences. I want you to know what you're doing when that happens."

"Me too," she said, though not quite as solemnly.

Bruce nodded, moving to pass her; he'd only made it a step or two before doubling back. "And Liz, one more thing… no matter what you end up doing, even if it's what you think is right, you're gonna make enemies. Especially out of people you know."

There was a pregnant pause that lingered for a while, "… That's when you decide what really matters." She was shocked to see him then joke, "A good rule of thumb is to _not_ pick science."

She let out a quick snigger, "Alright." More sincerely, she added, "Thank you, Bruce."

He nodded again, then without further discussion, disappeared down the hall.

Liz remained where she was, considering what he'd shared with her. She was grateful that, for once, he'd decided to take her seriously—though forebodingly so. Still mulling over it, she changed her course: she had a quick stop to make.

* * *

After a long and arduous journey via stairwell (because apparently she wasn't important enough for the elevator to allow her access) Liz found herself at the solitary wing. Only this time, she was greeted by someone slightly less intimidating than Fury.

"Whoa!" Liz leapt back in terror as the enormous beast of an animal made a lunge for her, barking madly.

The agent in charge struggled to keep the dog contained, "Hey! Watch it!"

"Sor—wait, _me?" _Liz retorted, "I'm sorry? I wasn't doing a thing to your little furball—" She stopped to deliver a swift kick to its snout, sending it yelping back to the agent, who seized the opportunity to collect the leash.

Liz brushed herself off, heart racing, "What's it doing here, anyway? I thought pets weren't allowed."

"It's an extra security measure," he told her humorlessly, "Director Fury had them flown in. They'll be patrolling the halls nightly, until further notice."

She looked at him dumbly: security? Who the heck was going to attack them in midair? What, was he going to have them chase pigeons off the flight deck or something?

"Fury sent for _dogs? _As a former cat-burglar, I'm offended."

Obviously, her wit wasn't appreciated here; he rolled his eyes, "Do you have somewhere you need to be?"

Her tone chilled, "Yes, actually: right behind you. So if you wouldn't mind stepping aside, I have a job to do."

He complied, begrudgingly so. She resisted the urge to tread over the still snarling dog's paws as she passed.

"Didn't know they let mutts into the police force," she hissed, as if the insult could be understood by either of the two dull creatures glaring at her.

"They're not police dogs," the agent called after her snidely, "They're game dogs."

Liz froze.

Fury, you bastard, you didn't. You really couldn't have.

"_Game dogs?" _she repeated, dangerously annunciating her words. The agent seemed to confirm it somewhat impatiently, but Liz didn't catch his exact words.

_That bastard, _she fumed, her insides heating to a slow boil, _that goddamn, son of a… motherf—_

She'd blindly stormed to the further cell where, lo and behold, Coulson was waiting. It seemed he'd gone to the trouble of placing himself at the opposite end of the metal table, fully prepared for the impending explosion.

Liz took one look at him, "Game dogs." In a sudden rush, she'd lost any remaining tolerance, "_Could he make it any more goddamn obvious than that_?!"

Coulson said nothing. Instead, he pointed to a chair. No explanation.

It took a great deal of willpower for her to avoid flipping that damn chair. Liz sat abruptly, ignoring the violent metal screech it made in protest. He wanted her to calm down? Fine. By all means, whatever made Phil Coulson happy is what she would do_. _What was there to be upset about, really? Fury could do no wrong, after all! Let us all obey the great and wise Nick Fury and starve out an otherwise helpless hostage _then throw what's left of him to the dogs. Earth's mightiest heroes my ass._

Liz hardly noticed (over her inner ranting spell) as Coulson approached, waiting patiently with hands clasped behind his back.

"Are you ready now?"

Yes, she was finished sitting in time-out and was ready to rejoin the big kids for playtime.

"Yes."

He waited for her to rise, then held out a white paper bag. She resolved to stay angry with him and took it without thanks. Coulson unlocked the cell, and she wasted no time slipping inside.

"Man, you looked _pissed."_

She forced a smile; it came out a bit deranged, "_Do I?"_

Rocket snickered, clearly enjoying this, "Nah, it ain't too obvious."

"A dog tried to maul me a minute ago and I'm at the mercy of a bunch of bas—_people _I don't much care for, right now," she growled, still seething from the previous outburst.

"Must be rough," he replied flatly, "Course I've never been in a situation like that…" He jostled his straitjacket, "Oh wait. Looks like I have."

Liz decided she'd drop the subject for the time bei—no, you know what? He'd ranted to her enough; it was _her _turn.

"Fury's desperate to keep you locked up here, so—get this—he had a bunch of _dogs _shipped in to tighten security. Because out of all the tech and all the weaponry we've got at our disposal, nothing does the job like a hoard of drooling—"

"I already knew about the dogs, just so you know," he cut her off.

Liz stopped, "You did?"

"Yeah."

She waited for further explanation, but he didn't elaborate.

"Well?" she prodded, "How_ did_ you know?"

"I used my incredibly advanced powers of—how the hell do you think I knew?!" he snapped, "I saw 'em."

"Saw them how?"

Rocket muttered something impatient under his breath, "Son of a—Eye-patch dude brought one in here, alright? How the actual f*** was I going to find out any other way, really?!"

Liz stared at him, beginning to feel that boil of anger a second time.

"What did he say?" she asked, keeping her voice calm.

"The mutt or the guy?"

She was in no state to offer a rebuttal. Her gaze intensified.

"… Sheesh, learn to take a joke. Ol' Eye-patch pretty much told me that if I got out again, those things were gonna come after me, and he wasn't gonna reattach any limbs I got torn off." He shrugged, "Fair trade."

The rage flared—and Liz promptly turned. Without thought of the consequences and no restraint whatsoever, she punched the wall. The entire cell echoed from the blow.

"What the f—" Rocket blurted, but thought better of his initial comment. He tried again, "Did that help at all?"

"No!" In fact, along with the insane amounts of fury still coursing through her system, there was a massive throbbing centered squarely in her wrist. She dropped the bag to cradle it painfully.

"You could try punching it again. That might help."

"Or it could break my hand this time!"

Rocket grinned, "Either way, it's makin' me feel better."

Her knuckles were bright red and already beginning to swell—really, what did she think would happen? She silently vowed to avoid attacking metal walls in the future, but that alone seemed to give her self-control a little too much credit.

"… Okay." Liz took a deep breath, beginning to recollect herself, "Okay, that's it. They've done enough." She inhaled again: _irrevocable consequences, here I come_. "I'm going to get you out of here."

Rocket was utterly speechless… then burst out laughing.

"Oh _sure!" _he cackled, hunched over dramatically, "Kid, I've escaped more prisons than you can count on both hands, and even _I _couldn't manage it! What chance do you have?"

"To be fair, I've been stuck living on this thing for about a year now," she told him, "So I think I know my way around—better than you, even."

"Oh yeah? But do you know your way around in the dark and past security?"

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Uh-huh," he muttered, clearly unconvinced, "Don't suppose I can get you to let me outta this thing again?" He raised his crossed and bound arms.

Liz complied, knowing better than to kneel, this time. The straps were still loosened as she'd left them, and it appeared Rocket was in much less pain this time around.

"I wasn't joking, you know," she said once he was freed from the straitjacket.

He groaned, "Are you still going on about that?" Rocket turned to face her, "Lemme humor you for a second, so you can see how stupid all this is. First of all: _how_ the hell do you see this working?"

"It wouldn't be that hard—" She ignored his returning laughter, "Listen. All the agents have key-cards to get around; the more important you are, the more places you get into. So I take it from someone who's higher up and boom, access to the entire helicarrier. There's bound to be a way out."

He scoffed, "Yeah, right out into thin air, thousands of feet above something worth escaping to."

… She hadn't considered that.

"We can't keep flying over the ocean forever," she argued, "Sooner or later we'll have to pass a city—and fly lower, so the SHIELD base can fly up supplies and stuff!"

"Oh alright—and then plummet only _hundreds _of feet to certain death."

Liz pondered, "Well…" She drew a blank. "Okay, fine. You got me there. But—"

"So thirty percent of a plan it is, then?" he asked flatly.

"Be fair, that was at least forty—"

"Look," he interrupted bluntly, "I'm not really in the mood to get into this only to be double-crossed again and get chewed up by a dog."

"I'm not going to double-cross you!" she repeated in exasperation.

"Ya did it once."

"Well—yes, but—" She huffed. "Do you want to get out of here or not?"

"I wanna get out and _live_ through it," he emphasized, "Otherwise I wouldda gone kamikaze long ago and saved you the trouble."

Liz growled, "This is ridiculous…" She straightened up where she sat, "Listen to me: I made a mistake, okay? I'm sorry! I'm _trying _to set it right by helping you—I mean, come on, what do _I _have to gain from turning you in? Nothing! Hell, if I get caught, it's gonna cost me a lot!"

By now, he'd turned his back on her, per the usual, "Not really much incentive for me to trust you then, is it?"

"Rocket, give me a break—"

"Not interested."

Back to square one. How the hell was she supposed to make progress like this?! She slouched, massaging her temples in frustration… then had an idea. It was a stab in the dark and ridiculous in theory (nothing like those other _genius _ideas she'd been pitching earlier), but that was good enough; she hoped he was more desperate for escape than he was letting on.

"So… I guess you wouldn't be interested in a bribe, then?" she offered innocently.

His ears perked up at the term "bribe" and he turned, his expression a careful mask.

"Try me," he challenged.

Liz withdrew her previously concealed hand, displaying the wrapped prize, "You know what this is?"

"Unimpressive."

"This is chocolate—it's arguably the best stuff earth has to offer." There was no exaggeration, there.

"Can it get me drunk and or hung over?"

Liz gave him a chastising look, "Why do you assume the best things have to have alcohol or drugs in them?"

"Only someone who hasn't tried them would say that." He seemed skeptical again, "Nice try, kid. Not buying it."

"We'll see." She unwrapped the chocolate bar, broke off a corner and held it out, "Here."

Rocket cautiously took it from her, anticipating some sort of trap. He examined the sliver, nose twitching slightly. Eventually, he nibbled the candy. Then took another small bite. Then consumed it entirely.

He looked her square in the eyes, silent for a moment.

"… I'm not convinced." He beckoned forward, "_Yet."_

Liz broke into a grin; after saving a small piece for herself, she passed him the rest of the bar.

While he enjoyed his bribery (Liz half expected him to finish it off and refuse her once again), Rocket reclined against the back wall, looking incredibly proud of himself.

"Here's the deal," he told her between mouthfuls of chocolate, "Seeing as I don't have all that much left to lose, and since I'm sure as hell not gonna get out like this, I've decided to play along. But—" He gave her an accusing expression, "If you try to get me torn up by a dog or mauled in any other fashion, I can personally guarantee that most of you is gonna get blown off or torn up to an unrecognizable state. Got it?"

_Oh don't worry. I've got full confidence in that,_ she almost replied.

"Sounds fair."

"And one more thing," Rocket added, tapping the half-eaten candy bar with a greedy glint in his eyes, "I want at least two more of these."

"I think I can manage that," she agreed, then held out her hand, "We've got a deal, then?"

He scoffed, "Guess we do."

They shook on it.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!**


	8. Chapter 8

**So before I begin, a question has come up a few times from different people (Tracy, I'm looking at you and doing so teasingly), so I feel I should address it. *clears throat, straightens stack of papers, sits upright in business-like manner***

***immediately slouches forward* This will NOT turn into a romance. No. Nononono. NO. No doubt it's my own fault as the writer for making this unclear, so I am clarifying. ROMANCE DOES NOT ABOUND IN THIS STORY. WE HOUSE NO ROMANCE HERE. THAT DEPARTMENT HAS BEEN DEMOLISHED AND DONE SO THOROUGHLY WITH-**

**Get the idea? So sorry again for giving off that implication, but it is not the case. Anyway. Enjoy the non-romantic chapter!**

_**(P.S. Hi Tracy, I adore you).**_

* * *

Liz's second chocolate conquest didn't run quite as smoothly as the first.

"J-Jeffrey!" She tried to hide her growing terror behind a meek smile, "Jeffrey, look, I'll pay you back soon enough, okay?! I just need—"

The agent made a sudden grab for the chocolate bars in her fist, stumbling as she jerked them out of his reach.

"Rachels, give those back!" he demanded, "I swear I'm going to—"

"You'll what?" she challenged, candy behind her back, "You'll tell Fury? The guy you're hiding all this stuff from?"

Jeffrey didn't reply immediately; he floundered a second, then reset his face to a scowl.

"Give those back, Rachels," he repeated.

"I _need_ them!" she argued adamantly.

"Why do you _need_ them, exactly?"

Now Liz floundered, "I… girl stuff, you wouldn't understand."

Jeffrey was unconvinced, "Girl stuff?"

"Yeah," she continued, "With uh… you know, menstruation causes cravings—"

He suddenly recoiled, "_I didn't need to know that!"_

"What? All I said was _menstruation…"_

That was all it took to send him flushing and rushing off down the corridor.

"Hey, you asked, didn't you?" she called after him loudly as she could manage. When he'd disappeared, she snickered and continued on her way. _Mental note: use this excuse more often._

* * *

"Alright, hand over the goods," Rocket demanded as soon as she'd set foot inside the cell.

"Jeez, give me a second!" Liz dug around in her pockets, then withdrew the two bars, "Go nuts, killer."

In a blur, the chocolate had vanished from her hand. Rocket wasted no time in tearing off the wrappers (Liz decided she was done with the straitjacket and refused to replace it last time) and started to devour it.

Liz stifled a laugh and emptied her remaining pockets: excessively folded papers, and lots of them. She flattened out the creases best she could, then started to place them in accordance to one another.

"Alright," she muttered to herself, "This looks… right enough…"

"Whatcha got there?" The question was almost indistinguishable with how much candy had been stuffed into his mouth.

"A map," she answered absently.

Rocket edged forward to study it himself, "Looks kinda sloppy, if you ask me."

Liz's flat expression was raised, "Well we don't exactly leave helicarrier blueprints lying out on the break room coffee table, and it so happens I left my own personal copies at a friend's house. _So, _I had to make due."

Rocket rolled his eyes, "Excuses, excuses. Do you even have a plan at this point?"

"I do, _actually," _she confirmed pridefully, picking up one of the sheets as reference, "This is the lowest hangar. We usually keep experimental technology and stuff like that in here, and there's a hangar door in the bottom of—"

"—So that we can plummet to our dea—"

"For the last time, there will be no plummeting!" More jokingly, she added, "Come on, Rocket. Have some faith in me!"

He offered no reply.

Liz frowned and continued, "I checked the hangar this morning: they've got your ship and—"

"Pod."

"What?"

"It's a combat pod, not a ship."

"… And?"

He scoffed, "_And _even a dimwit should know that! A ship is a hell of a lot bigger—you fit a pod in or on a ship! If I had a ship, I'd have gotten a lot further and done a hell of a lot more damage to all of you!"

Liz stared blankly, "You done?"

"Never."

"Anyway, they've been tinkering with your ship—"

"_Pod!"_

"—and it looks like they're almost done fixing it. One of them told me they'd be done by tonight. If that's the case, we just need to get to the sh—the pod, open the hangar door, and you're out."

He clicked his tongue skeptically, "Seems like a pretty big "if" for your oh-so _fool-proof_ plan."

"Do you have a better idea?" she challenged, patience waning.

"For the sake of time, I'm gonna say no. You'd better have more to it than that, though."

"If you'd have kept quiet and let me," she muttered. "As I was saying…" She ruffled through the scattered maps and withdrew one, "The easiest way out of here and to the hangar is down these hallways here—" She pointed them out, "It's a straight shot to the stairwell. There's bound to be an agent or two, but they go in shifts. If we catch them at the right time, we can slip by right as they switch. With me so far?"

"Isn't that the question?"

Liz ignored the remark, "We'd have to wait until tonight. I'll get ahold of someone's key card—" She made a mental note of those who'd earned a good inconvenience to their day (Roman and Jeffrey came to mind), "I can get the stuff of yours that they stored away: the rest should be where you left it. I've got your back up to the hangar, but then you're on your own."

"Uh-huh." He was intently memorizing routes of escape, "Hey, so aren't you gonna get fired for this or something?"

Liz laughed shortly, "Fired? No, people don't get fired from SHIELD—they vanish completely. Right off the face of the earth!" She continued to laugh, then quieted as it sunk in, "… Yeah. Great." She cleared her throat, "Oh boy."

He was now giving her a weird look. Liz tried to regain her enthusiasm, "Besides, that's only if I—if we get caught, so that won't be a problem. Heh… it'll be fun, you know?"

Her forced optimism fooled neither of them.

"Yeah… fun." Rocket dug a thumb into one of his temples to repress a growl, "Oh hell, we're gonna die…" He stuffed his cheeks with another slab of chocolate for good measure.

* * *

The helicarrier took on a different persona, late at night. The lights were stark and blinding: it snapped Liz out of any drowsiness she was suffering from. It didn't help with the tension, though.

Her eyes darted around every corner as she walked, doing all she could to avoid looking suspicious. Yes, because really, how hard was it to avoid looking suspicious carrying a large black backpack… while walking around late at night… far from the living quarters… alone?

She still hadn't thought up a reasonable excuse in case someone stopped her, but that proved more incentive not to get caught. To her surprise, she didn't come across a single agent on patrol. Maybe it was the fact that she'd been sticking to the outer hallways, maybe she was just lucky.

When she made it to the locked inventory storage, Liz slipped out a key card—Roman's key card, to be exact—and held it up to the scanner. It offered a short beep of acceptance, and the lock clicked. She wasted no time slipping inside, and shut the door silently behind her. The room was dimly lit and filled wall to wall with dark, towering cabinets.

And now it was her job to find the one with Rocket's stuff. Among the hundreds of unmarked drawers.

… _Wonderful_.

Liz had no choice but to start digging. After determining where the empty cabinets were located, she worked backwards, figuring that she'd find what she was looking for near the end, where the most recent discoveries would be kept. But after going through around twenty separate cabinets, something told her that the method was a poor one. Well great—now what?

Other than a lengthy exhale, Liz kept her cool. She decided to go in the _opposite_ direction from the empty cabinets, this time.

"No." She closed a drawer, opened another. "No." She closed it a little less patiently, opened yet another. "For the love off—" She slammed the drawer. Was this really going to keep her here all night?! Liz scanned another fifteen, found nothing of interest. Well. It looked like her only option was indeed to _go through every God damn cabinet until she came across Rocket's stuff. WHY DID THEY NOT LABEL THEIR STUFF?!_

Liz stormed over to the twenty-first cabinet on the side she'd started on, now resolved to her task, and opened the first drawer.

And found it all.

And for the second time in a week, punched a sheet of solid metal.

She stuffed the items into her backpack with an aching hand, her anger ebbing away only by the surprise that replaced it upon all she unearthed.

There was the worn-out orange space suit he was wearing earlier (which reeked of a number of different fluids), and no less than six guns. The smallest had to be at least double the size of a simple handgun, and it was exceedingly more colorful and elaborate. Her personal favorite was one that looked to be as long as Rocket was tall, shaped like a rectangle, and sporting an odd handle that curved in on itself.

Somehow, she managed to fit it all into the backpack, then swung it over a shoulder, staggering slightly under the weight. It didn't present much of a challenge… so long as Rocket didn't expect her to carry him along with it.

Liz left the storage room, then made the long descent to solitary. As tempted as she was to use Roman to gain an elevator pass, it was too risky—and she was somehow certain that Fury would find a way to beat her to the bottom.

Again, she let herself in with the key card, and entered the solitary wing. The single monitor was still lit, yet the cell remained empty as before. Liz paused, waiting to see if anything would reveal itself. A few minutes passed, and nothing did—she walked on, not really knowing what she'd expected.

After an additional sweep of the area, Liz opened the cell door.

"What took you so long?"

"SHIELD apparently takes every precaution to inconvenience thieves. Every precaution except decent security." She took off her backpack and set it on the floor in front of him, "These are yours."

Rocket scoured the backpack, shifting through the contents before pulling out the orange suit. He made a quick hiss, "Aw, ya wrinkled it!"

Liz rolled her eyes, "I think that's the least of your problems, right now."

He growled something that sounded like "would be just as pissy if it was her stuff" and then unzipped the front of the suit. But suddenly, he went rigid; his eyes darted to her accusingly.

"Uh, can I get some privacy? Jeez."

She complied without arguing, facing the back wall of the cell. It's not like time was of the essence.

"I hope you realize how friggin' lucky you are," he snapped amongst the rustle fabric, "With you turning your back like that, if I was in the mood to do anything murderous… I got like, five different ways to blow off your head back here."

"I counted six guns," she corrected.

"I know what I said."

A little while later, he cleared his throat, accompanied by a series of metal clicks, "Alright, I'm ready to go killing when you are, kid."

Liz spun around swiftly, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said, more interested in clearing the dust from one of the smaller pistols, "Thought they were gonna get off scot-free with taunting me, huh? Well they're about to get one hell of a shock—"

"_Absolutely not!" _she interrupted, "You are _not_ going to kill anyone!"

"… Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I'm telling you not to!" she repeated, "I know half these people!"

He shrugged, "Well _I _don't, so that problem doesn't pertain to me."

"Do not kill anyone," she stressed, "I'm serious."

Rocket continued to give her a disbelieving look, but eventually sighed in exasperation, "Fine, your highness." He stuffed the gun back into her bag with a huff, "But when you get blown full of holes, don't expect me to jump out and try to save ya."

"Oh, don't worry," she muttered darkly, collecting the bag and replacing it on her back, "Time to move out."

Rocket passed her silently, lowering into a slight crouch before leaving the seclusion of the cell. He paused, listening, then offhandedly explained, "Just making sure you don't got any surprises planned."

She was legitimately offended, "Really? After all I've been doing to get you out of here?!"

"Never too late to backstab, kid."

_Yeah,well it's never too late for me to change my mind and go back to bed, either. Don't test me, whiskers._

They left the solitary wing, sticking close to the walls. Rocket led the way.

"Do you know where you're going?" she asked skeptically.

"Course I do," he shot over his shoulder, "I looked at your sloppy map, didn't I? What, you think I'm just sightseeing?"

"I was just making sure!" she retorted.

He continued forward, pausing when he'd reach a corner, ears perked. Eventually he'd resume his pace, and Liz would quietly trail behind. She was in disbelief of their luck thus far—not a _single_ agent. Where was this "impenetrable and elite" force she'd been warned about for years?

Apparently, the thought alone was enough to jinx them, because Rocket completely halted at the next corner—Liz nearly tripped over him.

"What?"

He shushed her, straining to hear. Squinting, as if to block out any distractions, he listened… then his eyes flew open.

"We've got company," he told her gravely, "Two guys—coming this way."

Liz flattened against the wall, trying to think up an escape, "Alright—alright, don't panic—"

"Means a hell of a lot from the one flipping out over here!" he snapped, clawing at his temples in frustration, "We got no choice—I say we go in, guns ablaze and take 'em by surprise—"

"_We are not going to shoot anyone!" _she hissed.

"You have a better idea, genius?!"

Liz started to argue—then inspiration struck.

"I do now." She removed the backpack and placed it on the floor, "Get in."

His expression was pure acid, "Don't patronize me."

"I'm not kidding—this could work!" she insisted, "Just as soon as we get past these agents—"

"No really, what do you take me for? A friggin' _pet_?!"

She groaned, "We do _not _have time for this! Either get in the bag or go back to your cell!"

His glare intensified… then with a snarl, he cooperated. Liz tried to close the bag, but he latched onto the zipper.

"Not all the way!" he blurted, then added sharply, "Not gonna let you suffocate me or something!"

She offered no reply. Only just resolving to be gentle, Liz shouldered the backpack, took a deep breath… and rounded the corner.

Rocket had made a mistake; there weren't two agents. There were _three. _And one of them had a dog.

Liz dropped her eyes to the floor and started forward, determined to avoid eye contact. She neared the first agent, then passed him in the same instant. The second approached—she felt his gaze linger a moment before he too moved on, none the wiser.

As the dog came closer, Liz _really _got nervous. The audible rustling in her backpack didn't help, either. She faked a cough, slipping in a low "dog" and "still." The movement ceased, except for a slight trembling pressed between her shoulders. Liz assumed he was as anxious as she.

They were only feet away. At the last second, she employed a limp—it didn't take too much theatrics—and shoved her hands into her pockets. The movement caught the agent's attention, but upon seeing Liz's lopsided pace, she averted her gaze politely. The dog had paused in front of her, but the agent nudged it along, neither of them giving it a second thought.

They gradually fell out of ear-shot, and Liz let out the breath she'd been holding.

"Oh thank God…" She was quite proud of herself for the diversion, "There's gone. You okay back there?"

"What the hell d-do you think?!" was his snarled reply, still jilted from a steady shaking, "You wanna be stuffed in here instead?!"

"Hey, calm down! There's only a few more halls, and we'll be right at the hangar—until then, you're a backpack, and backpacks don't talk."

A string of furious cursing said otherwise.

Liz repressed further taunting; a few more minutes and her furry little headache would be on his way home. No doubt she'd be woken up tomorrow by a rampaging Fury, demanding to know what she'd done with their prisoner. What story was she planning to stick to, anyway? Because she had a feeling "I have no idea what you're talking about" wasn't going to fly. He'd find some way to get a confession out her… would Coulson stick up for her? After the fit she'd thrown in solitary… probably not.

… Would Bruce? A "stress-free environment" would be kinda hard to uphold if he was accused of betraying SHIELD, but Fury wouldn't just let it slide. Even the slightest hint that he'd helped her would get him a one-way ticket to—

Then if they brought it up, she'd just deny it. She'd take his words to her grave—Dr. Banner? Never heard of him.

_Bruce isn't going to take the fall for any of this, _she grimly determined, _I'm not dragging him down with me, this time._

Of course, if she could make it a few more halls without incident, she'd have a lot less to worry about.

However, one more obstacle revealed itself—Roman. And a dog.

…_ Uh oh._

She again implemented the coughed messages, which drew the agent's immediate attention.

"Rachels." He approached swiftly, "What are you doing out this late?"

"I'm going back to bed," she answered passively, not breaking stride.

He snorted, "This far from the living quarters? I'm impressed you managed to get _this_ lost."

"Thanks." If she kept walking, maybe he'd leave it be.

"Wait."

_Dammit._

Roman advanced closer, scrutinizing her every detail, "Where were you, a few minutes ago?"

Liz noticed the dog, whose ears were erect, eyes fixed on her.

"I was working out," she lied.

"I didn't know the training rooms were this far down in the helicarrier."

The dog had begun to sniff deeply, tail extended rigidly behind it.

"I'm not surprised."

Roman glared at her, then squared off only inches away.

"You think you're so funny, don't you, Rachels?"

She grinned angelically, "No. I think I'm hilarious."

He opened his mouth to reply—and was cut off by the dog's low growl. They both looked down— it had planted itself directly in front of Liz, unmoving.

Roman seemed confused… then saw the bag. His face slowly rose into a sneer.

"What's that you have?"

"The head of the last person who stood in between me and sleep." She immediately regretted the joke.

"Open it."

"It's just work out clothes, alright?" she insisted, trying to evade the dog, "My stuff isn't really any of your business!"

"Actually, it is." He flashed his communicator, "Or we can ask Director Fury, if you'd like that."

Liz stood rooted in her spot, cornered. Roman was going to make a scene if he didn't get his way. She wouldn't make it if she ran, stupid leg—and if she tried to disable him—she couldn't win, here. She could do _nothing_.

"Hand it over."

She lifted a hand protectively to the strap, "… What if I don't want to?"

His patience had all but evaporated, "Now, Rachels."

Liz glared at him, then with great contempt, removed the backpack and set it lightly on the floor. The dog approached threateningly, hair bristling down its back. She itched to dive forward and snatch it out of reach—but remained composed. Barely.

Hopelessly, she watched as Roman knelt, dog at his side. He reached for the zipper, slowly began to open the bag, and Liz held her breath.

Roman suddenly stopped, taken aback by something unseen, "Rachels, what did you—"

"_SURPRISE!"_

Everything happened at once: Roman flew back into the wall, engulfed in a wave of blue electricity. At the same instant, the dog let out a savage snarl and charged forward—Rocket spun around to fire again, but wasn't fast enough. It caught ahold of his arm, making him drop the gun. He reared back and dug his claws directly into the dog's eye, and it yelped piercingly. Rocket made a desperate grab for his weapon, only to be pounced on a second time, the dog landing its paws squarely on his back and pinning him to the floor. He let out a breathless cry, the air knocked out of his lungs, and only just managed to evade the canine's snapping fangs.

Liz came to her senses and rushed forward, "Rocket—"

She froze as the dog set its sights on her, jerking up its head with a growl of warning.

The distraction was just long enough for Rocket to slip from beneath its hold, and he bolted for his weapon. The dog, eyesight impaired, was still faster; it barreled forward and rammed its head into Rocket, throwing him off course—wasting no time, it lunged.

"_Rocket!"_

He gave her a deadpan look, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was now staring at her from between the jaws of the snarling dog.

"Oh hey. What's up?"

He would've continued, but the dog began to thrash its head back and forth in quick succession, flinging him around wildly.

"Hey—kid—" His voice jarred as he was thrown every which way, "You think you could—do me a favor and—_shoot the damn thing already?!"_

"I—I don't want to shoot anything!" she blurted helplessly.

"Well I don't wanna lose a limb! So—pick a furry pest—and put one of them out of its misery!"

There was a crunch—Rocket shrieked almost animalistically.

That was enough to snap Liz out of it. Without further hesitation she dashed over to the bag, thrust a hand inside, and withdrew the first gun she found. She grounded herself and tried to aim—her hand shook uncontrollably. The dog itself was a feral blur—what if she hit Rocket?

Biting her lip, she moved to point-blank range, the dog oblivious to her presence. She raised the gun, looked away at the last possible second—and pulled the trigger.

A flash of green erupted, and an ear-splitting howl was cut short by the explosion of sound that followed. Several feet away, what remained of the dog was lying in a heap. A trail of blood had stained the floor and sloshed onto the walls.

_I… killed it. _Liz let out an audible breath, but it left her feeling weaker, _I—I killed the dog. I just killed something…_

A groan interrupted her mental crisis; Rocket was still held firmly in the dog's mouth. She dropped the gun and ran forward, ignoring the pain caused by kneeling. Rocket was clawing frantically in a failed attempt to free himself, chest constricted and in some placed punctured by teeth— his stilted breathing confirmed this.

"Hold on!" Liz said quickly, "Hold on, I've got it!" With only a moment's pause in apprehension, she took ahold of the upper and lower jaws, wrenching them apart. He made a painful sound, but grit his teeth and dislodged himself, then collapsed to the floor.

She whipped her hands away from the dog, a runny red mixture of blood and saliva coating them; it made her stomach turn.

"You alright, Rocket?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah—fine." He'd wrapped an arm tightly around his middle, as if to hold his shuddering form together.

Liz didn't believe him, "Are you sure?"

Rocket snarled, staggering to his feet, "I said I was—" His face contracted, the arm tightened, "—fine! I'm fine!"

She didn't argue, seeing as it wouldn't make a difference.

He saw her expression and slouched further, "Would you stop looking at me like that, dammit?! I don't need your friggin' pity!" He shuffled in place, "Besides, looks like I was half right."

"Half right about what?"

"You _almost _let me get mauled by a dog—but I lived through it. Didn't expect that."

"You know wh—" She bit it back, "No. Someone will have heard that. We need to move."

Not waiting for another rebuttal, she heaved up the backpack and set off for the hangar once again.

She'd only rounded the first corner when she plowed into two more agents. Both groups jumped back in surprise, Liz by almost a foot; she threw up an arm as if to regain her balance, hoping Rocket would catch the intent of the gesture before he too was caught.

"Liz!" one exclaimed, let out a breath and hunched over, "For God's sake, don't _do_ that!"

She recognized him: Morty. They'd spoken on a few occasions. After a second look, she also recognized the woman beside him, but couldn't place a name.

"Sorry!" she apologized quickly, "Sorry, I didn't see you!"

"Well I'd imagine not," the woman commented, but her tone was teasing, not snide.

Morty straightened up, "I guess we can't talk, though."

The woman shrugged, "We were on patrol near the hangar, thought we heard a commotion."

"Really?" It sounded stressed, "That's weird!"

"Oh… you didn't hear anything?" Morty questioned.

"N-no!"

Both agents caught the stammer: Morty looked confused, the woman suspicious.

"Are you sure?'" she repeated cautiously, making a move as if to pass Liz.

Liz blocked her path in a single motion, "Yes! I'm sure!"

The agent was taken aback for a second, then forcibly made her way past—she froze.

"Beth?" Morty was quick to join her, "What are you—"

There was a moment of uninterrupted silence from everyone—the agents were greeted by the blood, the dog, the unconscious agents—and Rocket holding the gun.

"Oh my—" Beth looked faint, but suddenly regained herself, "Morty, alert Fury—the prisoner's escaping—now!"

Liz was trapped in the middle, mortified; while Morty fumbled for the communicator at his belt, Beth reached for the holster at hers. She drew her gun—

"_Don't!" _Liz latched onto her wrist, jerking the gun off course.

"What are you—"

Liz's eyes darted after Rocket, who had fled hallway down the hall by then. The agent realized her mistake.

"Morty, call Fury _now!"_ she ordered, wrenching herself free from Liz's grasp. Liz was thrown off balance for only a moment; she dove forward, making another grab for the gun. Beth side-stepped, then in an attempt to disable her, dug an elbow into Liz's chest.

Liz recoiled, a sharp pain wracking her collarbone—great, _that _old injury would start acting up, now. Beth began to advance, gun raised after Rocket, so Liz sprung again: this time for the leg.

The intention was to make her trip, to buy Rocket some time, but the result was _much _more efficient. A horrible, grinding crunch erupted—thick bone. Equally horrible was Beth's agonized scream. She crumpled, the gun completely forgotten, and crashed to the floor. Liz scrambled away, trying to evade the sound: it was a mix of words an inhumane shrieking.

Tearing her gaze away, she spotted Morty—he was frozen in horror, the communicator held aimlessly to the side. Upon meeting Liz's gaze, all remaining color drained from his face: he retreated slowly.

"Morty," she pleaded, "Morty, listen to me, please." It was impossible to hear her over Beth's continued screaming. "Morty, please don't call anyone—just let me explain—"

It only took one step forward to make him snap—the communicator flew up to his face.

"Director Fury, this is Morty Schwartz, lower east wing near hangar three!" he rambled frantically, "The prisoner has escaped—he's attacked an agent—Beth was just attacked by Liz Rachels—she's aiding the escape—"

There was a flash of blue: Morty cried out, coursing with electricity. He flailed, falling to his knees, the wails almost matching Beth's in intensity. The wave died down and he soon slumped to the floor, still spasming.

Liz spun around to see Rocket supporting himself with the giant gun, an arm still around his middle.

When she didn't speak, he scoffed. "You're welcome, by the way."

She continued to stare, making him self-conscious of his posture.

"Don't give me that," he snapped in reply to her expression, straightening up and flinging the arm to his side, "Now are we going to keep moving or not?"

"I know, hold on—"

The communicator blared with static, then Fury's voice erupted: "All agents on lowest level, surround all hangar entrances—prisoner escape, reported armed and dangerous—do _not _engage! I repeat, do _not _engage unless first fired at—Elizabeth Rachels is suspected of aiding the prisoner in escape—apprehend Rachels immediately—"

Liz just stood aimlessly—everything was beginning to crumble. They were as good as caught. Any second now agents would come flooding in, guns drawn, and this time the _both _of them would be locked up.

"_God DAMMIT!" _Rocket hurled his gun to the side, "Well, guess that's f***ing it! We're f***ing screwed, now!" He snarled, clawing furiously at his temples again, "_God f***ing dammit!"_

She stared down the hall quietly, deep in thought… then turned back to him with a look of renewed determination.

"We're not caught yet."

"Oh shut up!" he growled, "We got no way outta here—"

"_Yes we do!" _she argued, then started to run down the hall leading _away _from the hangar, "Come on!"

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"They're all going to go for the stairwell by the hangar!" she called back, "We take the other ones down here—while they're below, we cross the second level—go down the stairs—slip past them!"

"_This is a stupid plan!" _he screeched in exasperation, but not long afterwards, she could hear heavy panting as he sped to keep up with her.

She reached the stairwell, her chest beginning to ache from the previous blow. Rocket was nowhere to be seen.

"… Rocket?!" _Did I lose him already? I didn't think… I didn't see any agents! Did I leave him behind?!_

Liz was just about to backtrack and go after him when Rocket rounded the corner, looking disoriented. The gun had shrunk (that would've been helpful earlier!) and somehow attached to his suit at the back, leaving his arms free to prop himself up against the wall. He paid no immediate attention to her, though making a stubborn attempt to control his facial expressions.

She gave him a second to catch his breath, then opened the heavy door to the stairwell, "Whenever you're ready."

It wasn't meant as a challenge, but was clearly interpreted as one. He stormed past her without acknowledgement.

Upon reaching the actual stairs themselves, Liz knew another pride-fueled fiasco would ensue. Mainly because Rocket was only as tall as about three of the steps: thus climbing them would be an issue.

Liz cleared her throat, mostly to stifle the beginnings of a snicker, "Hey, do you want to go ahead and let me ca—"

The wall behind her suddenly sparked, making her duck. Rocket replaced the gun at his back, point made.

While he started climbing, she took a second to poke her head out into the hall, on lookout. It was oddly quiet and still just as empty, but that did nothing to reassure her. If she couldn't see them, she didn't know where they were, and that was much more dangerous.

Liz was growing anxious; she glanced back at Rocket, who had only made it up a grand total of six steps.

"Great," she mumbled, then with an unwilling resolve, took off her backpack.

"Before you kill me, let me say, for the record, I'm sorry," she rushed, then without giving him time to comprehend it, grabbed hold of the back of his suit.

"_Oh no you don't!" _he roared, knowing exactly what she had planned. He lashed out with both hands, digging his claws into anything exposed.

"Rocket—stop—fighting me!" she yelled through gritted teeth, trying to fit the thrashing creature into her backpack once again. When at least half of him was secured inside, Liz counted it as a success and shouldered the bag.

"I said I was sorry!" she repeated, dashing up the stairs. It was met with a set of claws raked across the back of her neck.

"If you ever think about _trying to do that again I swear I'm going to gouge your goddamn eyes out and force 'em down your goddamn throat and watch you choke on 'em!"_

Liz shuddered a little at the image, "Uh-huh."

The stairs went on and on; the pain in her knee and chest grew harder and harder to ignore. She stopped only once, sucking in air and using the railing as a lifeline. She distinctly heard Rocket scoffing at her expense, so she straightened up and pressed on.

After an eternity of climbing, the door to the upper level was in sight. Liz nearly collapsed against it, then with returning composure, opened it slightly to peek outside.

Sure enough, there were no agents in sight. There was a faint commotion that sounded a ways off, so Liz took her chances and made a run for it.

"Do me a favor," Liz whispered when she'd stopped at a corner, "If you happen to see anyone behind me, you think you could—"

"Shoot them?"

"… But _only _with the electrical gun."

There was a high-pitched whirring as he powered it up, "Hell yeah."

She passed a door—then backtracked. It led to the containment cells on that level, which would then lead back out to the other side—right where she wanted to go.

_Don't see this having unforeseen consequences. _

The key card allowed them access (_If I'd known how many places this could get me into… I would've stolen it a long time ago, to be honest) _to the darkened corridor of cells, most of which stood completely empty.

Liz relaxed only slightly—really, who did she expect to find down there?

"Hey blondie!"

She stopped dead in her tracks, then turned slowly to the cell nearest to her.

Wade waved at her flirtatiously.

"Wade!" she exclaimed, "What are you doing down here?"

"Uh…" He rapped on the protective barrier, "There's really only one answer that would make sense here."

"No, I mean down _here_, specifically," she clarified, "You were on low-security watch last time I saw you. How'd you get moved?"

"Oh, no reason…" Even though she couldn't see his face behind the ridiculous mask, Liz safely assumed his expression offset the innocent tone.

"Right."

"But enough about me: what are _you _doing down here, blondie?" he inquired.

She had no more opened her mouth to reply when Rocket emerged from the backpack, jamming the stock of the gun into the back of her head sharply.

"Hey, kid, we don't exactly have time to chat, here!" He ignored her protests and snapped again, "Just tell you boyfriend you'll call him later or something and keep moving!"

Wade stared at the both of them, cocking his head to the side briefly.

"Jeez Liz, is that a raccoon in your bag or are you just happy to see me?"

"It's a long story," she answered flatly.

"I _do _enjoy stories."

"Not now, Wade," she brushed aside, "In the middle of a prison break. Maybe some other time."

"Prison break, did you say?" He perked up, "Not to change the subject, but you _do _still owe me a favor. You know, just whenever you get the chance."

Liz rolled her eyes and started to pass… but hesitated.

"… You know what?" She smiled, but not in a pleasant way, "You're right." In a single motion, she swiped the key card across the pannel next to the doorway and hit a large button. The protective barrier completely vanished.

"There. Now we're even."

Wade was fixed to the spot in disbelief, "… You're kidding me, right?"

"Nope." She walked away, calling over her shoulder, "Inventory is on the lowest level. I'm pretty sure I forgot to lock it. Give 'em hell, if you've got the time."

There was a long stretch of silence, then: "_Well golly gee, we've quite the plot twist here!"_ It was later accompanied by: "_They better not have thrown away my favorite machete!"_

_The love I have for that idiot is only matched by my utmost fear of him._

"What, is this like, a hobby of yours?" Rocket questioned, "Letting out psychopaths to go wreak havoc? And you haven't been fired already?"

Liz laughed shortly, "Letting out psychopaths? You do realize you just put yourself into that boat too, right?"

"I know what I said, idiot. You done sightseeing yet? Or would you rather we save 'em the trouble and just lock ourselves in one of these cells, here?"

She continued forward, nearing the end of the corridor, "You know, for someone who doesn't have a problem insulting people left and right, you're not very good at taking a joke."

The remark earned a hiss, "Damn right."

They left the prison wing, and after a frantic dash through the empty hallway, made it to the stairs.

"Thank God," she said with a breath, and entered the stairwell.

"_Freeze!"_

At least ten agents blocked their path; all had their guns drawn.

"… I'll come back later, then." Liz made a move for the door, but it was subsequently slammed in front of her, removing the last route of escape. She backed away from it, eyes darting around like a caged animal—agents on the upper level, agents on the lower, agents behind her—they were trapped.

"Elizabeth Rachels, drop the bag or we _will _open fire!" one of them ordered, gun held unflinchingly in line with her head.

Her arms rose in defense, "What happened to "do not engage"?"

The remark was ignored, and the agents advanced threateningly, "Drop the bag! Now!"

She could hear the sound of rustling from within—another Roman incident was about to occur, and it was _not _going to be one they walked away from so easily.

"Alright!" she blurted, and the rustling abruptly stopped. Liz reached back and removed a strap, held onto the top, then removed the other. Her eyes never stopped darting: there were less agents up top—they could get through, and have the rest trailing behind… but that plan didn't exactly work the first time. No way could she make it past the ones in front of her, there were too many…

"Drop the bag!" the agent repeated, more insistently than before, "Now!"

Liz looked away from him, hoping to find some glimmer of an escape. Nothing but stairs, agents with guns, their inevitable capture—

The stairs. The railing didn't meet on both sides. There was a gap in the middle, one that led to the bottom floor.

… She was going to get them both killed.

"Okay," she breathed in defeat, "You win." With her head hung, she lowered the bag to the floor as an agent came forward to retrieve it—

—to whom she immediately met with an uppercut, sending him sprawling backwards into his fellow agents, who rushed to support him. Wasting no time, Liz scooped up the bag with a single hand, tucked it to her chest and dashed for the railing. She threw her legs over, curled into a ball, and plummeted.

It took much less time than she had anticipated to reach the ground, but when she did, there was no mistaking it. She managed a roll to soften the impact, but a jolt went shooting up her bad leg, momentarily incapacitating her.

Liz winced, unable to rise. Above her, the agents were shouting to one another, and a thundering wave of footfalls warned her that the "leap of faith" would mean nothing if she didn't get up.

Using the railing, she was able to pull herself to her feet, though putting weight on the leg proved a literal pain in the ass.

On the floor a few feet away, Rocket had managed to free himself from the bag and looked even more aggravated than before.

"What the hell did you do now?!" he roared, "I look away for ten seconds—"

"Come on," she cut in intolerantly, "We're not far from the hangar."

In a tremendous amount of pain, Liz limped to the door and pried it open, scoping out the hallway. The hangar door was in sight, only yards away. Rocket slipped out past her, dragging the discarded backpack behind him. No conversation passed between the two as they hurried to the hangar; Liz let them in with the key card, and they ducked inside the darkened room.

"You're supposedly so techy," she commented upon locking the door, "Think you could find a way to make sure this stays shut?"

He scoffed, "Stand aside, kid."

While he was occupied, Liz roamed the cavernous hangar, heading for the area she found the pod last time. She passed the giant hunk of what used to be a helicopter, the remains of that one wreckage they found in the ocean, and finally the—

_Uh-oh._

The spot was empty.

Liz spun around, hoping she'd spot it somewhere else. She did not.

"No…" She put a hand to her head, "No no _no!"_

"What's the problem now?" Rocket snarled as he approached, tossing aside what looked to be the remains of the door panel.

Liz stood with her head in her hands, "It's gone."

"What?"

"The pod—it's gone."

"_What do you mean it's gone?! Where the hell is it?"_

_"I don't know—but it's not here!"_

_"Well thanks for that clarification, dumbass!"_

_"It was here just this morning!" _she insisted desperately.

"Well _that's _nice, only it's not here _now, when we actually need it to be here!"_

Behind them, a chorus of banging erupted on the hangar door: the agents were trying to get in.

With a strained and frustrated sound, Liz spun around and dug her hands into her hair: now what? What the hell were they supposed to do now?!

From where she was fuming, she could see out one of the tiny windows on the wall of the hangar. It was the dead of night, cloudless and starless. Liz walked up to it, trying to clear her head. Below them, there was a bright collection of lights—a city. She squinted and came to a realization: it was none other than _New York _City.

"… I've got an idea." She turned on a heel, "Rocket, open the hangar's hatch."

"Give me one good reason why I should listen to you!" he shot back, "Every damn thing you've done got us from bad to worse!"

"That is _not _true!" she retorted, "I—nevermind! This is the last chance we've got!"

"Screw that! I've got an entire _bag_ full of other options right here!" At that, he began to rummage through his guns.

Liz stooped down and yanked away the backpack, "_We are not shooting anybody!"_

"_Hey!" _Rocket made a grab for it, "Would you quit tryin' to be some saint?! We ain't gettin' out unless we blow some heads off, okay? That's reality for ya!"

"We'll see about that!" she challenged, then ran for the hatch's control panel. To her disappointment, there wasn't a big lever labeled "OPEN HATCH", but she was sure that enough button pushing could accomplish something.

The sound of agents grew louder, and the blows to the door more violent; they wouldn't be held back forever.

"_Come on…" _she muttered, "_Please, cut me a break for one time tonight…"_

Whatever unseen power she was begging seemed to have sympathy, because there was a "beep" of confirmation, followed by the heavy whirring of the hatch mechanism. Sure enough, the hatch began to lower, and the hangar filled with the thunderous sound of the helicarrier engines and massive wind.

Liz then ran past Rocket down the length of the hangar, skidding to a halt at a tarp-covered shape.

"Please be what I think it is," she muttered, then removed the cover.

What stood before them was a large, boxy motorcycle. It had none of the sleek aerodynamic features of a normal bike, and was accompanied by circular handlebars, completely offset from the body of the bike.

Rocket was unimpressed, and gave her a look to make it known.

"It's my friend Pete's," she explained, throwing a leg over the side of it and searching for a way to start it up, "He keeps it here when he's not using it. This is our way out."

"Sure it is." He quickly grew tired of her aimless searching, "Do you even know what you're looking for?"

"Maybe."

Before she could stop him, Rocket threw the backpack at her and proceeded to sit at the front of the motorcycle. "Let's see what we got here…"

There was now a harsh scraping against the hangar door—they were prying it open.

"No pressure," she tried to comment calmly, "But if you could do this in a somewhat faster way—"

"Says the one who spent decades trying to open a hatch!" he cut her off, "Now shut up and let me work!"

Liz fingers drummed against the handlebars, eyes glued to the door. It creaked, shrieked, and slowly began to give way.

"Rocket—"

"Give me a second!"

There was an enormous crash—it was hanging by a hinge.

"_Rocket, now would be a great time to get it working!" _

"_You wanna do this yourself?!"_

Their argument was interrupted as the door was flung to the floor. Agents came flooding in, led by none other than Phil Coulson.

Liz froze up, making direct eye-contact with him. For what felt like an eternity, there was a silent stand-off between them.

Slowly, Liz succumbed to a nervous smile, "… Okay, I can explain—"

The bike roared to life, and Rocket victoriously cried, "Got it!"

Without warning, the engine revved and they were shot forward at full speed.

"_Gah!" _Liz screamed and latched onto the handlebars, steering them sharply away from the wall. The turn threw them off balance, so Liz swerved again, trying to keep them from tipping. They missed the crowd of agents by a matter of seconds, but as a result, found themselves speeding head-long towards the opened hatch.

"_What the hell are you doing?" _Rocket demanded, "Do you even know how this thing works?!"

Liz answered with a grimace, "Well—"

Before anything could be added to it, the ground gave out beneath them.

Clutching the bike for dear life, they plummeted towards the earth.

* * *

**Well that ended up being slightly very long. And taking about a month to complete. Sorry about that.  
**

**BUT I'VE DONE IT! AHAHAHAHHAHA AT LONG LAST!**

**Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! More will come soon enough- whenever school allows me free time to do so. Blegh. Thanks again! ^-^**


	9. Chapter 9

_"What were you thinking?!" _Rocket bellowed over he deafening roar of the wind.

"_Just give me a second!" _she shouted back, trying to operate the bike in a blind panic. They were tilted completely to one side; the beating winds and utter darkness didn't do them any favors.

Liz held fast to the handlebars, trying futilely to keep herself flattened against the the bike. There was supposed to be some sort of trigger here—where the hell was it?!

"_You goddamn idi—" _Rocket lost his grip and was flung upwards into the air.

He would've been lost for good, had Liz acted a second slower. She released one of the handles to grab him, only just catching a strap on his suit. Rocket latched onto her arm, his claws mercilessly digging into her skin. She managed to ignore it and gain a better hold of him, all the while struggling to work the airborne motorcycle.

The city was getting closer, the lights glaring and Liz more frantic. _Where the flying frick was the trigger?!_

Her fingers found a loose strip along the handle and dug into it: there was a click, then a high-pitched whirring. Even in the dark, Liz caught a glimpse of the limp webbing. _So it DOES actually work! _No longer hopeless, she pulled Rocket to her chest protectively.

"_Hold on this time!" _she chastised, unable to hear any protests made in reply. Liz clutched the handlebars like her life depended on it (… which it did), and pressed the hidden triggers.

More webbing shot from the front and rear of the bike, the latter falling aimlessly, but the former finding its mark on a building below. The thin strand was slowly stretched until taut, and no longer free-falling, the bike began to descend in an arc.

The front of the bike protested, immense strain placed on the strand, so Liz quickly repressed the corresponding trigger. The end was severed, then almost instantly, another was projected; this time, the force of the falling bike proved too great, and it subsequently snapped.

There was a jerk, and Liz lost her hold. She was thrown against the bike, suffering additional damage by crushing Rocket beneath her.

Blind flailing managed to activate the triggers: the webbing shot out, and both connected. With more speed than was probably safe (because everything in this situation screamed safety), they zipped along the web lifeline and headlong towards the skyscrapers around them. Liz released Rocket briefly to snatch up the handles and take control: the front line was severed, and she swerved sharply to one side, then tapped a trigger again. The line shot out, connected to another building, their path diverted from catastrophe.

She eventually got the hang of things and made her way towards the center of the city.

Something jagged was plunged into her chest, and then its source yelled, "_So do you even know where you're going?!"_

_"Yes!" _she retorted, veering and barely missing the edge of a particularly low building, "_Stop distracting me!"_

_"Not my fault you're a lousy driver!"_

_"I'd be better if you'd stop distracting me!"_

_"You're doing it yourself, now!"_

Liz finally caught a glimpse of the building she'd been searching for. It wasn't exactly hard— the biggest and brightest eyesore the city had to offer. But after driving out of a helicarrier and plummeting for a solid couple of minutes, she considered it beautiful.

_"Hold on!" _she warned Rocket, unsure how exactly she planned to land the thing.

_… Eh, I'll figure something out. I hope._

She drove on, the tower grew closer. Liz cut both cords, jerked the bike backwards until it reared up sharply, and shot forth another. It just gripped the tip of the tower's roof, and they were heaved upwards.

Then, at the top, the wheel clipped the edge—the bike flipped completely, launching its passengers into the air. Before she could completely flatten Rocket, Liz twisted to one side, taking the full brunt of the impact; the backpack full of guns was jammed into her ribs.

There was a crash—the motorcycle landed upside down on the roof, motor still running furiously while the wheels spun full-speed in the air.

In pain, Liz rolled off the bag, breathing audibly. Rocket was sprawled across her chest at first, but upon realization of it, pried himself off and landed on his back beside her. Neither spoke, gasping for air (since they weren't heading towards certain death, breathing was a priority, again).

It was freezing outside. The roar of the motorcycle slowly faded, though the engine sputtered feebly, no doubt damaged by their crash landing. But they made it. SHIELD was long behind them, for the time being.

"… Well now what?"

* * *

The bike was no longer of any importance to Liz, but by force of habit, she held onto the bag. Soon, Liz made an attempt to get to her feet: she slumped at the sting of her ribs, but the action caused her leg to flare up just as severely. Either way, there was going to be pain—she just had the privilege of choosing where.

There was a door near one of the roof's corners, so Liz struggled over, hastily supporting herself against it. Beside it was a yet another panel (why couldn't breaking and entering be easy, anymore?), but this time, Liz was prepared. She pressed a button and waited.

"Please enter your authorization pin number," a computerized voice requested. She complied (taking a second-long pause in between each digit, trying to remember the ridiculously long password she'd been issued) and was met with a beep of confirmation.

"Identifying: Elizabeth Rachels. Please speak your verbal pin for further identification."

Liz leaned in towards the panel and flatly enunciated, "Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back."

There was another beep, and with that, the voice sounded again.

"Welcome back, Miss Rachels. I expected no less than a theatrical entrance from you."

She smiled tiredly, "Nice to see you too, Jarvis."

"May I ask what deterred you from the front door?" the AI inquired. It was amazing how much sarcasm could be packed into the robotic tones.

"You said it yourself: like to make a dramatic entrance." She shifted her weight, making an uncomfortable noise, "Is Tony here?"

"I'm afraid Mr. Stark is out on personal business," he informed her, "He should be returning shortly. If you wish to enter, I can only allow access to designated floors."

"Is the medical lab included in that?"

"It is."

"That's the one I need."

"Very well." The lock clicked, "Please come in, Miss Rachels."

Liz mumbled thanks and opened the door, then remembered Rocket and peered back. He was standing a ways off, and she could tell by his expression that he wanted an explanation. Well, now it was _her _turn not to give one; instead, she held the door, inviting him to follow. He did, in a slow and stunted way, the arm still wrapped around his middle. To be fair, he was probably a lot worse off than she, so Liz didn't comment.

Inside was one of the most beautiful sights she'd beheld all night: an elevator. It opened at their approach, then just as swiftly slid shut behind them.

"Taking you to the medical lab," Jarvis noted, "And Miss Rachels, a question?"

"Fire away."

"You are aware you're being followed, I take it?"

She saw Rocket stiffen upon being addressed, so Liz answered as dismissively as possible, "Yeah, I know. He's a friend of mine, don't worry."

The lull in the conversation gave way to silence… only the sounds of the gliding elevator could be heard.

Exhausted, Liz took the momentary release to sit, propping herself up against the lumpy weapon-filled bag. In the opposite corner, she saw that Rocket had the same idea, slouching over his knees. His face seemed to be stuck in a constant grimace.

"Hey," Liz called over. Unmoving, he glanced over, so she continued, "Hey, look. I'm sorry I let that dog get you. I should've just shot it down when I first got the chance."

"Yeah, that would've been nice."

She guiltily studied the floor.

After a minute, he turned the attention away from himself and to the elevator in general, "What place did'ja break us into, this time?"

"I didn't _break _us in, I _let _us in," she clarified, "I'm actually allowed to be here."

"This place ain't yours?"

She let out a laugh, "God, I wish! No, it belongs to a friend of mine."

"And… he's fine with you just breaking in and crashing a vehicle into his roof?"

"Not breaking in," she repeated, "Allowed in."

"Uh-huh, yeah. So what? Guy with a lot of cash that you get hand-outs from, or something?"

"No," she answered firmly, "He works for his money—I'm not going to take what I didn't earn. He just lets me crash here. I mean, can't do it a lot: he's got a job, I can't be bothering him. Just when I really need it. And right now, I—we need to borrow some of his stuff."

Rocket wasn't buying any of this, "So you expect him to just let you get away with all this?"

"Eh… not before hanging it over my head for a while, no." Liz grinned to herself, "And hey, I "got away with it" for about a year without him catching on, so maybe he won't even notice we were here."

"What the—you're sayin' you stole stuff from him before?"

"Surprised?"

"Yeah, but I dunno why—you stole plenty from your boss guy, right?" He scoffed, "Man, this guy's gotta be even more dim-witted than _you_ to not notice his stuff's gone!"

"Thanks." Her witty retorts were beginning to drain away along with the remainder of her energy.

"Wait—wait, so lemme get this straight: you been stealing this guy's stuff for a year… and he _lets _you back here?!"

"Yep."

"Why the hell would he do that?!"

She shrugged, "I make him laugh once in a while. And clean up after myself."

Rocket stared at her, dumbfounded.

"… Everyone on this planet is a goddamn idiot."

The elevator dinged,

With great unwillingness, Liz rose to her feet. She briefly considered the pros and cons of sleeping the the elevator, but gave up the idea and moved into the darkened room outside, dragging the bag behind her.

The lights slowly powered up, much dimmer in this area than anywhere else in the tower. It was fairly chilly, gray, and filled with bare metal tables.

"_What the hell?!_" she heard Rocket blurt, almost leaping back at the sight.

Liz ignored his sudden animosity, "Jarvis, did Tony move anything around? I went through something like forty filing cabinets tonight, and I'd rather not add to that."

"They're in their assigned drawers, Miss Rachels. Miss Potts is just as particular about their organization."

"Thank God for that," she commented, "Pepper here?"

"Miss Potts is currently representing the company at a global conference in Beijing."

"Really? That sounds fun." Liz limped over to the medical drawers, "So I'm guessing that means there'll be no one here to stop Tony from binge-drinking and building a nuclear detonator this weekend, huh?"

"I'm afraid that may be the case." There was a pause. "With that in mind, I'll take this opportunity to remind you that you're always invited to remain on the premises and prevent the aforementioned, by permission of Miss Potts."

Liz laughed, "I'll consider it."

While she was browsing the drawers' contents, she called over her shoulder to Rocket, "Hey, you think you could get up on one of those tables over there?"

"… _Why?"_ His tone suddenly became malicious.

"So Jarvis can do an x-ray and make sure that dog didn't break anything when it attacked you."

"Nah, I'm good."

"_Ha_. It's just an x-ray, it won't hurt you."

"Says you."

Liz stopped, huffed, then stared back with impatience, "Alright, you wanna die of internal bleeding just because you wanna be difficult? Or do you wanna sit still for ten seconds and not die?"

"I'll take my chances."

"Table."

"Make me."

There was a silent, tense stand-off, then Liz smirked.

"Jarvis?"

"I've already completed the scan."

"Thank you," she replied sweetly, "Could you pull up the picture when you get a chance?"

She took note of Rocket's furious glare in full, but paid no further mind to it. One of the monitors beside a table lit up, constructing an elaborate 3-D representation.

"There is minimal internal damage—despite your expressed concerns," Jarvis explained, referencing the scaled-down model in front of them, "The ribs have been compressed and bruising as a result. Abrasions are present on the chest and back, the most severe of which display tearing of the muscle fibers. Overall, the injuries sustained are not life threatening." The model pixelated away, "Moving on to your own injuries—"

"No, I'm fine—I've got a pretty good idea of what's screwed up on me," she interrupted, "Go back to him: anything else? What needs to be treated?"

"The abrasions should be cleaned—there's little that can be done for the massive scarring of the tissue."

"Alri—" Liz hesitated, "Massive what now?"

Jarvis pulled up the model again, "The skin is severely scarred in various areas—partially obscured by the fur."

She cast a sideways glance at Rocket, who was intentionally staring away.

"Ask me about it and you're dead," he spat.

Liz fully believed the threat, but Jarvis didn't seem to catch the hint.

"I suppose, then, I should refrain from mentioning the small devices embedded throughout the spine and base of the skull, and the fact that your friend most closely resembles a common racc—"

"Yes!" she cut off quickly, "Thank you for _not _mentioning that!" With that crisis averted, she dove right into another by addressing Rocket, "You heard him; we gotta clean the scratches."

"I told you I'm _fine!" _he snarled viciously, "No flarking way I'm gonna let you at me with needles and knives and—"

"What the hell are you talking about?" she interrupted.

"… Nothing. Forget it."

Before she even had the chance to react, he exploded more intensely, "_Nothing, _alright?! Stop giving me that dumbass look, already!"

"Rocket, you can go on all night if you'd like, but I refuse to give up on you." She crossed her arms, rooted to the spot, "Frankly, you're making this a lot harder than it could be. Again."

He suddenly hissed, "You ain't in charge of me!"

Rocket made a move as if to advance on her threateningly, but the first step resulted in him doubling over with a groan.

"Are you—"

"Don't you even ask."

Liz kept back as he struggled up.

"… Okay, listen."

"No, _you_ can just—"

"_No, you _can just listen! We'll try something else." She went over to the medical whatnots and took out an armful of miscellaneous items, "I'm not gonna touch you. I'll put this stuff on the table, and whatever you think you need, you use. And should you want help, you can ask. This way, you don't have to give up your enormous and uncooperative pride, and I spare myself another half hour of arguing. Deal?"

"I don't have to make anymore deals with you, _kid._"

"You wanna argue some more?"

"Not really."

"So deal, then?"

"Fine. Screw you."

Liz laid the collection of supplies at one end of the table as Rocket attempted to climb up the other (it didn't help that the thing was twice his height). She saw this and moved over without thinking.

"Hey, do you want me to help—"

"_No."_

She didn't offer again.

While he sorted through what she'd brought, Liz took the chance to examine herself; there was a strong, growing pain in her side that was screaming for attention.

"Hey Jarvis? Lights up?"

Once she could see, Liz lifted up her shirt and found a red mark about as large as her hand, streaked across her torso. That was bound to start swelling. Her leg almost seemed docile in comparison—so, on the bright side, it wouldn't be the _leg_ that kept her up all night.

"I'm guessing just ice it, right?" she asked out loud.

"That would be best. I would also recommend the cessation of strenuous physical activities—"

"Nah, we're not gonna be doing that."

"It is the best way to assure a steady recovery—"

"Didn't work for Bruce, not working for you. Sorry, Jarvis."

Liz replaced the shirt and sat against a table, rubbing her eyes—what she wouldn't give for a few hours of sleep, right now. No doubt as soon as she got it, SHIELD would come raining down, drag them back to the helicarrier and toss them right into a solitary cell—"

"Hey Princess!"

"What."

"You okay?"

"Fine."

He sneered, "You see? See how annoying that is? Now imagine me asking you that every time you're obviously _not _okay." After snickering at his own joke, Rocket went back to work.

Liz frowned, and with not much left to do, began to wander the lab aimlessly. What the heck was she going to tell Tony? He _was _SHIELD, even if begrudgingly so, making it his responsibility to turn them over—but then again, he'd never been one for handling responsibilities… well, responsibly.

She reclined against one of the walls (which was covered end to end in techy stuff she did her best not to disturb), trying to find anything remotely horizontal and/or flat in nature to sleep on. The wall was a stretch, but if it had come to that, she could definitely manage.

In front of her, Rocket had pulled the shredded space suit down to his waist, applying something to the gashes on his chest. There was a glint of something metallic between his shoulders, catching her attention.

She'd only made it a step or two closer when his sharp tone again cut her off.

"I can feel you staring. I said not to ask."

Liz did as he'd so humbly requested—but he was dead wrong if he thought she wouldn't press for an answer, sooner or later.

"Miss Rachels?" Jarvis alerted, "Mister Stark has returned. I'll be informing him of your arrival."

"Oh boy," she exhaled, "This is going to be… fun." She started for the door—then halted in realization.

"Hey, Rocket? Quick warning: Tony's a little…" It was hard to find an accurate description in anything less than a laundry list, "… Opinionated."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"All it means is that he says anything and everything that comes to mind—no filter whatsoever. So don't be offended if he—"

"I'll stop you right there. Because I can already tell, whatever you're about to say, it ain't gonna happen."

Liz made a noise of exasperation, "Look, just—just lay low. I'm gonna to talk to him and try to explain what's going on. Until then…" She made a desperate set of hand gestures, grasping for words, "You understand?"

He gave her a look, "I'm not even sure _you_ understand what you're saying."

"Just—just let me take care of this!"

Without waiting for confirmation, Liz headed to the exit, hurriedly formulating an excuse as to why she and a raccoon-like alien were bleeding all over his lab after crashing into the roof on a motorcycle. Maybe she should just stick with that—if she could get him laughing, there was a wide range of other things she could get away with. Feeling perhaps a bit too confident in this plan, Liz straightened up and strode out—

Directly into the oncoming path of Tony Stark.

She leaped back, Tony halted in his tracks and stared.

"Oh! Hey Tony—sorry!"

"That's Mr. Stark to you, Rachels."

Her eyes narrowed threateningly, "Don't push me, _Stark."_

As soon as the warning was issued, Tony reached out and, with the utmost exaggeration, nudged her with a set of fingertips.

"Whoops."

Liz couldn't help it—she burst out laughing.

"You jerk! I had to go and walk right into that!"

Tony simply smirked, "Yeah. You did. And since you're brought up the topic of 'walking into things without any warning whatsoever'..."

Liz crossed her arms, returning his wry smirk.

"Of course, that's not to say I'm in any way grieved by you being here- well..." He considered it for a moment, "We'll discuss that later. But it's not you being here, it's you being here without giving me time to, you know, tidy up the place and all. Lizzie, for all you know, I could've been strutting around nude-"

"Tony, cut it out!" she blurted, not sure how much more descriptive this would get, "I can't answer you if you won't stop talking!"

He huffed as if offended, "Fine then-" His arms swept out as if in a bow, "The floor is yours."

"Gee, thanks." She leaned against the door frame, trying to block his view of the lab inside—there was a fair deal of verbal preparation needed before she introduced the two prideful beasts to each other. "Okay, now hear me out… it's a really long, insane, and context-required story, but if you just give me a couple minutes—"

His brow suddenly shot up, "Why is there a raccoon in my lab?"

Rocket didn't miss a beat, "I ain't a raccoon."

"The raccoon just talked."

"What did I _just _friggn' say?"

"Lizzie—please tell me you see the talking raccoon, too."

By now, Tony had made it halfway across the lab while Liz remained at the door, repeatedly driving her head into it out of frustration.

_Frustration _is a bit of an understatement, but nevertheless.

"See, this is exactly what I was trying to _avoid_," she muttered, but was ignored by both.

"Are you even listening?!" Rocket was standing on the table, and it looked like he was ready to spring, "Maybe if ya had as much sense as ya do junk all over the place, I wouldn't have to repeat myself!"

Liz spun around—the dreaded line had been crossed.

For an entire second, Tony was speechless, for once genuinely offended.

"Junk?" he repeated incredulously, "_Junk? _You wouldn't know quality technology if you could afford it, fluffy."

And now the second dreaded line had been crossed.

"FLUFFY?!" In a blur, he'd leapt of the table and retrieved his electrical gun, which whirred dangerously, "_Let's see if you can call me that without a lower jaw!"_

She took that as her cue to intervene.

"Alright how about let's _not _do that!" she advised, hurrying to break up the shoot-out. She planted herself between the two, her attention solely on Rocket and the weapon.

"I warned you about him didn't I?" she said with a bit of a smirk, "Now come on, don't shoot him."

"Just watch me!"

"Rocket, please. Just put it down—don't make me take it from you, again."

Now the gun was pointed at her, "I'd like to see you try it, Princess!"

Liz sighed, and stared him squarely in the eyes. When she spoke again, she let the exhaustion seep in, "Rocket, come on, man. It'd be easier to just let him go than to shoot him and then get rid of what's left."

"Still _right here_," Tony reminded, overhearing the comment.

Rocket snarled, but sounded just as worn-out as she.

"… Fine. But you're still not getting the gun."

"That's alright, I trust you with it," she told him, even if she didn't entirely mean it. Once she had diffused him more or less, Liz returned her attention to Tony.

"Tony," she breathed, "Alright, just… please hear me out?"

Expecting Tony Stark to listen attentively and without comment was a monumentous demand in itself. But he at least made it appear as though he planned to comply—he crossed his arms, then rocked back onto his heels to stand comfortably.

"I'm listening. To _you." _His eyes drifted to Rocket, making the latter flare up defensively—Liz repositioned herself accordingly.

Standing in between the two's silent standoff, Liz launched into an account of their "adventure": from when the ship was first dumped onto the deck of the helicarrier, to Rocket's first imprisonment and escape attempt (it was clear he wanted to interject and set her straight on the minute details, but was somehow able to refrain).

Any time Fury was mentioned (and she held nothing back when doing so), Tony's face twisted into a smirk; he was one of the few people she knew who loved a good bashing of authority more than herself.

And then she got to their great escape—and he would _not _shut up.

"You actually broke her leg?!" he exclaimed in disbelief.

"I didn't _mean _to!" she insisted hotly, but Tony continued to egg her on.

"You usually go into things like that _meaning _to cause some sort of damage, Lizzie."

"Well, I just meant to stop her, not—"

"Oh don't worry, you stopped her."

"Tony—"

"How much was it you complained about a broken knee-cap of whatever? Now imagine a whole leg—"

"Look," Rocket cut in, sounding suitably aggravated, "As great as this part is, I don't wanna be listening to it for another damn hour, so get to the point!"

Blunt as it was, Liz agreed, and used the opportunity to continue the story.

When she'd finished, Tony nodded thoughtfully, almost seeming impressed.

"Well it sounds like you had fun today," he jested, "So you finally decided to stick it to Fury, then?"

"Guess so."

"Good. I definitely had fun while it lasted, when I did it—but you do realize that, if he finds you, he's not going to be as benevolent and forgiving as the Fury we all know and love."

"Don't worry, I know," she assured him flatly.

"So what's your plan now, cat burglar? More sabotage? Rallying a team of misfits to help extend your range of sabotage?"

Liz scoffed, "No sabotage. It's not all the fun it's cracked up to be."

"Mm, I'd disagree."

"Anyway," she continued, "I… in all honesty, I didn't think we'd make it this far, so I didn't plan ahead all that much."

"That's good to hear," Rocket muttered lowly.

Tony ignored him, "So then what I take this to mean then is that you're on the run, and you want your old pal Tony to hide you from the guys that could easily do us _both _in for a long, long time if they found you here?"

Liz studied the floor, realizing just how demanding it all sounded.

"… Look, I just stopped here because I was plummeting from the helicarrier and it wasn't too out of the way. Really, I was thinking we'd stop here for a second and then get out of your hair—"

He just laughed at her, "Liz, I don't care if you stay here. Really, what can SHIELD do to me? I pay for my own stuff and some of theirs, and they'd have to be idiots to want me working against them." He grinned pridefully, "I know way too much."

"I don't doubt that," she replied, "It won't take that long to come up with something, I swear. You sure we won't bug you?"

"Well I didn't say that—" She gave him a look, "—just bunk in the old SHIELD quarters for a while." His gaze shifted back to Rocket, "That is… if your pet is housebroken."

Liz knew the drill—she stopped Rocket in his tracks as he began to charge forward.

"Hey," she snapped, "Don't. Come here, a second."

She walked towards the other end of the lab, waiting for him to follow. He remained where he was, glaring at Tony, then stormed off to join Liz.

"_What._"

"I know he can be a little…"

"A little bit of a goddamn bastard?!"

"—_A little disrespectful," _she rephrased, "But he is helping us. And I know we can trust him."

"You can go ahead and trust him all you want, _cat burglar," _he hissed.

"Okay, fine. You don't have to _trust _him," she gave in, "But since he is helping us, maybe it would be best if you could… not insult him?"

"Not insult him period or directly?"

"At all."

"What if I can hide the fact that I'm insulting him?"

"No."

He rolled his eyes, "Uh-huh, yeah. I'll play along—until I hear "fluffy" again."

"Oh don't worry," Tony called out, "I've got plenty more."

"_Tony," _she warned, "Don't."

He didn't rebuttal for the time, so Liz decided to end the encounter while they were all in one piece.

"I think I'm calling it a night, Tony," she told him, "I'll plan something out tonight and tell you tomorrow, alright?"

"Yeah, or you could sleep."

"Nah." She passed him to leave, "Oh, and before I forget, there's a bike on your roof. I'll take care of it tomorrow."

"You do that."

She continued to walk, Rocket trailing a ways behind.

"Bastard," he spat.

"Shorty," Tony returned.

"Boys," she snapped. No further ridicule was spoken.

That is, not until they left the lab; Liz and Rocket entered the elevator, and he let out a furious growl, digging claws into his temples.

"So I take it you don't like him very much, huh?" she baited.

His response was a growl of equal intensity.

Liz smiled in spite of it, "Yeah, I kinda figured… I'll try to keep him off your back as much as possible."

Rocket grunted rather than answering.

The elevator soon brought them to a long dark hallway, doors aligning both sides. Liz was in no mood to be picky—she stopped at the first one she came to.

"Here." She opened the door for him, knowing very well the knob was too high, "If you need me, I'm next door."

He grunted again, quieter (he looked about to fall asleep on his feet).

Before he could disappear inside, Liz cleared her throat. "Hey."

Rocket glanced up, "What."

She thought for a second, then (using up the last of her tolerance) offered a sympathetic smile, "Sorry we didn't find the ship- _pod_ and get you out of here, already." She paused, then added, "And for letting you get torn up by a dog." Another pause, "And for driving us out of the helicarrier. Without warning you first."

Rocket stared at her blankly… then shrugged.

"Eh, happens." He held his side painfully, apparently not caring whether she saw, anymore, "Wouldda been more surprised if it went without a hitch."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." She opened the door to her own room, "We'll figure something out."

He exhaled, "Sure, kid." Without further comment or insult, the door was shut forcefully behind him.

Liz sighed, then slipped inside her bedroom: she had planning to do.

* * *

**_I'm very sorry for how long that took- and after a cliffhanger, too! I'm so sorry. :(_**

**_But now, since we're at a good point here, I'll say that I might go on hiatus from this story for a little while- it's being stubborn. But I won't abandon it- the story will go on! (eventually)._**

**_So thank you for sticking with me! Have an awesome day!_**


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